FROM   THE  LIBRARY  OF 
REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,  D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM  TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


DUMB  SCB 
■«*.    /W7S 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://archive.org/details/comortOOjohn 


y 


SEP  21  1933 


3* 


COMFORT 


•"»i 


By  MRS.  HERRICK  JOHNSON. 


NEW  AND   ENLARGED   EDITION. 


NEW  YORK: 
ANSON   D.   F.   RANDOLPH   &  COMPANY, 

38  WEST  TWENTY-THIRD  STREET. 


COPYRIGHT,    1888,    BY 
ANSON   D.   F.    RANDLOPH   &  COMPANY. 


EDWARD   O.   JENKINS     SONS, 
Printers  and  Electrotypers, 

20  NORTH  WILLIAM  ST..   NEW  YORK. 


To  the  toilers  and  sufferers,  on  the  way  to 
the  "better  cowitry"  may  these  words  co?ne 
with  something  of  help  and  healing. 


CONTENTS. 


Why, 9 

The  Voice  in  the  Twilight, 13 

The  Heavenly  Secret, 17 

God's  Best, 21 

Two  Cities, 26 

His  Name, 2 

Asleep, 34 

In  Vision, 36 

Out  of  the  Shadow, 40 

"  Faultless," 43 

In  the  Night, 47 

A  Memory, 49 

"Papa's  Little  Girl," 55 

Parting, 57 

Sunset, 60 

At  the  River, 64 

"And  there  was  Light," 67 

De  Profundis, 69 

(5) 


6  CONTENTS. 

A  Christmas  Memory, 73 

Reward, 73 

Life— A  Problem, 83 

Alone, 84 

"  Thine  Eyes  shall  see  the  King  in  His  Beauty,"    86 

Two  Angels, 89 

At  School, gi 

On  the  Bridge, 94 

"Peace," g7 

Entered  into  Rest, 99 

A  New  Commandment, 102 

The  Old  Graveyard, 104 

Fulfilment, 109 

On  the  Sea, hi 

At  the  Gate, 113 

"Casting  all  your  Care  upon  Him,"         .        .        .  117 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

Epithalamium— A  M  Silver  Wedding,"  .  .  .127 
Epithalamium — A  "  Golden  Wedding,"  .  .  .  131 
In  the   Name   of  our   God   we  will  set  up  our 

Banners, 134 

The  Bride's  Outfit, 136 

The  Indian's  Lament, 142 

Our  Bethlehem, 146 

The  Last  Offering, 150 

The  Message  to  the  Seven  Churches,     .        .        .155 

Hymn, 165 

The  Visit  of  the  Magi, 167 


CONTENTS,  y 

Flower- Walls, 172 

To  my  Bible-Class, 174 

Consecration, 177 

Only  for  One, 180 

Maying, 183 

Revery, 187 


COMFORT. 


WHY. 

TWO  friends  held  converse  glad,  of  life  and 
work, 
Beside  the  way.    One  said,  with  tender  smile, 
And  tone  that  sweet  belied  the  caustic  words, 
"But  if  the  world  should   frown,  or  worse, 

should  smile 
At  your  poor  songs,  and  throw  at  you  in  scorn 
That  saying  of  your  poet  best-beloved, 
Your  English-Tuscan  singer,  singing  late 
In  Italy's  fair  Florence,  toward  the  sea — 
Those  words  about  the  swallows  and  the  larks 
All  singing  at  the  dawn — you  know  the  place 
I  mean — 'tis  in  your  dear  ■  Aurora,'  there." 

Whereat,  uplifting  eyes  of  sweetest  calm, 
The  other,  smiling  too,  thus  made  reply : 
"  Ah,  yes,  I  know  the  words  by  heart.    Full  oft 

(9) 


io  WHY. 

I've  said  them  o'er :  '  Alas,  near  all  the  birds 
Will  sing  at  dawn,  and  yet  we  do  not  take 
The  chaffering  swallow  for  the  holy  lark.' 
She  truly  sung — though  swallows  are  God's 

birds, 
And  haply  have   some  use,   or   cheer  some 

hearts. 
For  me,  my  songs  came  not  at  dawn,  but  came 
In  later  hour  to  fill  a  vacant  space 
When,  for  awhile,  the  lark's  bright  morning 

praise 
Hath  ceased,  and  nightingales  have  not  begun 
Their  wondrous  trills  of  luscious  melody. 

I  soar  not  with  the  holy  lark,  I  know, 
Through    Heaven's   far    blue,   back-dropping 

from  the  heights, 
Divinest  notes  of  song,  but  in  the  vales 
Deep  down  and  still,  where  robins  and  the  wrens 
Full-throated  praise,  I  sit  and  sing  obscure, 
With  scanter  largess  for  the  few 
Who  care  or  need.     I  give  to  them  such  notes 
As  God  gives  me,  and  if,  one  day,  some  heart 
Shall  say  to  me, '  Your  low  song  comforted, 


WHY.  n 

Or  helped,  or  made  me  better,  such  or  such 
A  time,  when  sorrow's  weig.it  pressed  hard 

and  cold, 
Or  dark  discouragement  o'ershadowed  me, 
Or  some  temptation  lured  me  from  the  good,' 
Why,  then,  God  gives  to  me,  enfolded  there, 
My  whole  ambition's  height — to  simply  be 
To  fellow-pilgrims  but  the  trembling  chord 
Wherewith  He  wakes  the  music  of  His  songs 
Of  consolation,  in  their  nights  of  need — 
So  winning,  too,  perhaps,  the  love-look 
From  his  eyes,  the  noblest  and  most  precious 

crown 
His  children  wear." 

"  His  love-look,"  murmured  low 
The  first  voice,  then — "Ah,  that  were  worth 

all  loss. 
And  that  once  gained,  no  song  of  nightingale 
Or  holy  lark  could  higher  reach.     Sing,  then, 
Dear  happy  bird,  all  songs  that  fill  your  heart, 
Content,  indeed,  if  God's  own  voice  take  up 
Your  trembling  notes,  and  sing  them  glad  and 

clear, 
To  burdened  souls,  or  if,  through   Heaven'.* 

bright  clash 


12  WHY. 

Of  harmonies,  His  ear  detect  the  thrill 
Of  heart-swept  strings,  tuned  but  for  Him, 
And  hear  that  you  have  sung  the  part  He  set 
You,  as  He  meant." 


THE  VOICE  IN  THE  TWILIGHT. 

I  WAS  sitting  alone  towards  the  twilight, 
With  spirit  troubled  and  vexed, 
With  thoughts  that  were  morbid  and  gloomy, 
And  faith  that  was  sadly  perplexed. 

Some  homely  work  I  was  doing 
For  the  child  of  my  love  and  care, 

Some  stitches  half  wearily  setting 
In  the  endless  need  of  repair. 

But  my  thoughts  were  about  the  "building," 

The  work  some  day  to  be  tried, 
When  only  the  gold  and  the  silver, 

And  the  precious  stones,  should  abide. 

And  recalling  my  own  poor  efforts, 
The  wretched  work  I  had  done, 

And,  even  when  trying  most  truly, 
The  meagre  success  I  had  won : 

(13) 


1 4   THE  VOICE  IN  THE  TWILIGHT. 

"  It  is  nothing  but  •  wood,  hay  and  stubble,' 

I  said  ;  "  'tis  fit  only  to  burn  ; 
When  He  asks  for  the  gold  He  entrusted, 

No  gain  shall  I  have  to  return." 

"  And  I  have  so  longed  to  serve  Him, 
And  sometimes  I  know  I  have  tried  ; 

But  I'm  sure  when  He  sees  such  building, 
He  will  never  let  it  abide." 

Just  then,  looking  over  the  garment, 
Lest  a  rent  were  remaining  behind, 

My  eye  caught  an  odd  little  bungle 
Of  mending  and  patch-work  combined. 

My  heart  grew  suddenly  tender, 
And  something  blinded  my  eyes, 

With  one  of  those  sweet  intuitions 
That  oftentimes  make  us  so  wise. 

Dear  child  !     She  wanted  to  help  me, 
I  knew  'twas  the  best  she  could  do ; 

But  oh,  what  a  botch  she  had  made  it— 
The  gray  mismatching  the  blue  ! 


THE  VOICE  IN  THE  TWILIGHT,      15 

And  yet — can  you  understand  it  ? — 

With  a  tender  smile  and  a  tear, 
And  a  half-compassionate  yearning, 

I  felt  she  had  grown  more  dear. 

Then  a  sweet  voice  broke  the  silence. 

And  the  dear  Lord  said  to  me, 
"  Art  thou  tenderer  for  the  little  child 

Than  I  am  tender  for  thee  ?  " 

Then  straightway  I  knew  His  meaning, 

So  full  of  compassion  and  love, 
And  my  faith  came  back  to  its  Refuge 

Like  the  glad  returning  dove. 

For  I  thought,  when  the  Master-Builder 

Comes  down  His  temple  to  view, 
To  see  what  rents  must  be  mended 

And  what  must  be  builded  anew : 

Perhaps  as  He  looks  o'er  the  building 
He  will  bring  my  work  to  the  light, 

And  seeing  the  marring  and  bungling, 
And -how  far  it  all  is  from  right, 


1 6    THE  VOICE  IN  THE  TWILIGHT, 

He  vvili  feel  as  I  felt  for  my  darling, 
And  will  say,  as  I  said  for  her, 

"  Dear  child  !     She  wanted  to  help  me, 
And  love  for  me  was  the  spur. 

"  So,  for  the  pure  love  that  is  in  it, 
The  work  shall  seem  perfect  as  mine, 

And  because  it  was  willing  service, 
I  will  crown  it  with  plaudit  divine." 

Then  close,  in  the  deepening  twilight 
I  seemed  to  be  clasping  a  hand, 

And  to  feel  a  great  love  constraining  me, 
Stronger  than  any  command. 

Then  I  knew  by  the  thrill  of  sweetness 
'Twas  the  hand  of  the  Blessed  One, 

That  would  tenderly  guide  and  hold  me 
Till  all  the  labor  was  done. 

So  my  thoughts  are  nevermore  gloomy, 

My  faith  no  longer  is  dim, 
But  my  heart  is  strong  and  restful, 

And  mine  eyes  are  unto  Him. 


THE  HEAVENLY  SECRET. 

I  PONDER  oft  the  wondrous  things 
On  Patmos'  isle  in  vision  shown — 
The  trumpet  voice,  the  seven  stars, 

The  lamps  of  fire  before  the  throne  ; 
The  book  which  Judah's  Lion  loosed, 

With  awful  secrets,  seal  by  seal, 
The  golden  vials  full  of  wrath, 
The  seven  thunders'  fearful  peal : 

With  here  and  there  a  triumph  note, — 

The  song  of  Moses  and  the  Lamb, 
The  multitude  before  the  throne, 

With  blood-washed   robe  and  crown   and 
palm  ; 
And  ending  all,  the  City  fair, 

Spread  out  like  sunlight  far  and  wide, 
With  M  Whosoever  will,  may  come," 

For  last  sweet  words  sent  down  the  tide. 
(17) 


18  THE  HEA  VENL  Y  SECRET. 

But  ever,  'mid  these  mysteries, 

Sublime,  prophetic,  tender,  grand, 
One  precious  promise  fills  my  heart, 

And  binds  the  book  with  golden  band ; 
"  To  him  that  overcometh  " — this 

The  sweep  the  benediction  takes — 
If  Sardis,  Smyrna,  Pergamos, 

Your  church,  or  mine,  no  difference  makes, 

One  sole  condition  binds  the  gift, 

Though  struggle  sore  behind  it  lie ; 
A  faith,  a  life  that  overcomes — 

A  warfare  unto  victory. 
And  then,  reward  !     A  pure  white  stone, 

And  in  the  stone,  a  secret  name, — 
A  strange  new  name,  and  no  two  stones 

Shall  bear  inscription  quite  the  same. 

For  surely — thus  my  musing  runs — 
Since  'tis  no  name  already  known, 

It  cannot  be  some  name  of  Christ, 
Both  loved  and  worn  by  all  His  own ; 

For  thus  the  sacred  record  reads, 
"  No  man  may  know  it,  saving  he 


THE  HE  A  VENL  Y  SECRE  T.         j  g 

Who  shall  receive  it," — his  alone 
This  new  and  blessed  name  shall  be. 

This  is  the  thought  that  thrills  me  through, 

We  have  a  secret — God  and  J  t 
He  keeps  it  now,  but  unto  me 

He  will  reveal  it  by  and  by. 
And  while  I  wait,  my  heart  still  holds 

Some  fancy  beautiful  and  fair 
Of  what  that  glad  surprise  will  be, 

When  He  His  thought  with  me  shall  share. 

Perhaps  some  precious  name  by  which 

He  knows  me  in  His   heart  of  love, 
Because  of  special  service  given, 

Or  special  grace  I've  learned  to  prove ; 
As  wrestling  Jacob  after  prayer 

Had  seal  of  victory  on  him  set, 
In  that  new  name  which  crowned  his  s^ed. 

And  clings  to  all  God's  people  yet. 

And  Mary  with  her  broken  box 

Of  fragrance  for  the  burial-day — 
I  wonder  in  what  heavenly  name, 

Christ  keeps  that  memory  hid  away  ? 


20  THE  HE  A  VENL  Y  SECRE  T. 

Or  that  poor  lowly  child  of  His, 
Who  of  her  want  gave  all  she  had — 

I  wonder  what  sweet  word  up  there 
Translates  that  deed,  to  make  her  glad? 

Or  it  may  be  the  precious  stone, 

Like  rich  intaglio,  given  to  each, 
Of  Christ  shall  some  impression  hold, 

Expressing  more  than  any  speech ; 
How  in  some  great  emergent  hour, 

When  heart  and  flesh  were  failing  fast, 
He  showed  us  such  or  such  a  face, 

Till  all  the  fear  was  overpast. 

Or  once  in  some  communion  hour 

We  went  with  Him  up  Tabor's  steep, 
And  that  transfigured  Face,  for  us 

Forevermore  the  stone  will  keep. 
And  thus  I  muse  :  I  know  not  what 

The  secret  is— yet  still  the  same, 
His  thought  of  me,  or  mine  of  Him, 

Will  sweeter  be  in  that  new  name  ! 


GOD'S    BEST. 

I  PROMISED  to  tell  all  their  fortunes, 
As  they  gathered  around  me  in  gl 
My  half-dozen,  fun-loving  maidens, 
Grouped  prettily  under  the  tree. 

"Oh,  will  you,  you  dearest  old  Gipsey?" 
The  children  all  cried  in  a  breath  ; 

"  Do  give  us  all  something  so  splendid  : 
Long  life,  and — translation,  not  death." 

"  Tell  Helen's  the  last,"  said  dear  Lily, 
"  For  the  best,  you  know,  never  comes  first 

M  Tell  mine,  then,  at  once,"  rippled  Minnie, 
"  And  let  us  have  done  with  the  worst  I 

"  Give  Josie  a  Count  or  a  Baron, 
Give  Emma  a  castle  in  Spain  ; 
And  to  Lily,  so  thoughtful  for  others, 
Give  gold  like  a  torrent  of  rain. 
(21) 


B2  GOUS  BEST. 

"  Give  May  a  strange  lamp  like  Aladdin's, 
And  to  Helen — why,  give  what  you  will 
For  with  her,  'tis  according  to  proverb — 
1  All's  grist  that  comes  to  her  mill.'  " 

"  I  don't  want  a  Baron,"  quoth  Josie, 

"An  artist  is  more  to  my  mind." 
"  And  a  castle  in  Spain,"  pouted  Emma, 

"  Is  something  that  no  one  can  find." 

"And  if /had  the  gold,"  echoed  Lily, 
"  I  might  be  a  miser,  you  know  ; " 

"  While  Aladdin's  old  lamp,"  chimed  the  May 
bell, 
"  Might  land  me  in  far  Jericho." 

"  And  always  to  be  at  my  grinding, 

Though  the  grist  were  ail  of  the  best, 
Is  something  not  quite  to  my  fancy," 
Said  Helen,  "if  truth  were  confesf." 

"  See  now,"  said  gay  Minnie,  "  this  wonder — 
People  never  will  like  what  they  get ; 
And  they  never  can  get  what  they  like  either, 
And  so  they  just  worry  and  fret." 


GOD'S  BEST.  23 

A  peal  of  the  merriest  laughter 
At  this  rang  out  through  the  trees, 

And  echoing  down  through  the  wood's  green 
aisle, 
Was  borne  away  on  the  breeze. 

I  gazed  at  the  glowing  young  faces, 
In  a  silence  half  born  of  my  fears, 

As  I  wondered  what  each  would  inherit 
In  the  misty  and  far-away  years. 

Then  giving  the  word  to  my  wishes, 
That  beautiful  morning  in  June 

I  set  to  each  life's  happy  poem 
A  perfect  and  rhythmical  tune. 

Some  joy  that  a  mortal  might  covet 

Lay  fair  in  the  future  of  each ; 
While  some  magic   should  give   them  th« 
wisdom 

That  experience  only  can  teach. 

But  my  very  own  darling  was  Helen, 

And  while  I  asked  gifts  for  the  rest, 
My  heart  whispered  earnestly  always, 
"  Dear  Father,  give  her  of  Thy  best. 


24 


GOD'S  BEST. 


No  one  ol  sarth's  glorious  prizes, 
But  that,  did  she  choose  to  possess, 

Lay  clear  in  the  range  of  my  vision, 
Through  all  the  struggle  and  stress. 

The  artist's  ideals  of  beauty, 
The  poet's  possession  of  song, 

The  dreams  of  the  sculptor  embodied. 
Or  the  joys  that  to  science  belong. 

Whatever  of  grace  or  of  glory 
Her  effort  might  strive  to  attain, 

I  fondly  and  foolishly  fancied 
The  struggle  could  not  be  in  vain. 

And  now  as  I  noted  the  shadows 
That  played  over  each  eager  face, 

I  saw  that  the  broad  full  sunlight 
Fell  over  my  darling's  place. 

Then  I  smiled  in  my  heart  when  I  saw  it, 
And  turning  aside  from  the  rest, 

I  said,  "  Thus,  dear  Lord,  would  I  have  it- 
So  ever  give  her  Thy  best." 


GOD'S  BEST.  95 

I  knew  not  what  I  was  asking, 

Or  I  surely,  surely  had  known 
That  no  life  has  only  broad  sunlight, 

Save  life  within  sight  of  God's  throne. 

But  the  sweet  day  passed,  and  the  night 
came, 

When  He  put  my  love  to  the  test ; 
And  somewhere  up  there  'mid  the  lilies, 

She  lies  like  a  bud  on  His  breast. 

And  what,"  do  you  ask,  "  of  the  others — 

Lily,  and  May,  and  the  rest  ?  " 
Ah,  well,  they  all  have  their  treasures, 

But  none,  like  my  Helen,  God's  best ! 


TWO    CITIES. 

ONE  shines  from  out  the  sacred  page. 
Aglow  with  solemn  splendor, 
Illumed  with  every  radiant  tint 

That  art  divine  can  render. 
Built  far  upon  the  dazzling  heights 

No  foot  may  scale  unheeding, 

It  flames  its  glory  down  the  years, 

Nor  sun  nor  temple  needing. 

Kings  bring  their  triumph  into  it, 

And  nations  saved,  their  glory, 
While  thousand  times  ten  thousand  sing 

Its  glad  and  wondrous  story. 
They  sing  a  joyous  marriage-song, 

For  lo  !  this  city  golden 
Is  like  a  bride  with  jewels  girt, 

With  kingly  love  enfolden. 

The  King  of  kings  her  brow  doth  crown 

With  love's  most  royal  crowning ; 
(26) 


TWO  CITIES.  27 

His  gracious  welcome  to  the  feast 
The  seraphs'  praises  drowning. 

O  far  bright  city  of  my  dream  ! 
To  see  thy  marriage  splendor, 

With  passion  would  my  longing  heart, 
Its  life,  its  all,  surrender. 

How  shall  I  win  the  welcome  sweet  ? 

How  gain  the  wedding  whiteness  ? 
O  guarded  gates,  where  is  the  key 

Unlocking  all  your  brightness  ? 
"  Peace,  pleading  heart !  "  an  angel  saith ; 

Wait  not  at  yon  far  portal — 
This  city  is  but  type  of  that 

Which  is  to  be  immortal. 

Behold  upon  the  land  and  sea, 

In  every  tribe  and  nation, 
Glad,  busy  hands  are  fashioning 

The  stones  for  its  foundation. 
One  buildeth  here,  another  there, 

Each  bringeth  precious  treasure  ; 
Some  bear  the  load,  some  place  the  stor-Ci 

Each  working  in  his  measure. 


2  8  TWO  CITIES. 

Thus  is  the  City  walled  about 

With  wall  of  polished  jasper, 
While  precious  jewels,  set  in  gold, 

Like  crowns  of  light  enclasp  her. 
This  is  the  pure  and  perfect  Bride 

The  King  most  fitly  seeketh — 
A  Church  all  glorious  within, 

Whose  heart  her  love  bespeaketh. 

And  this  the  King's  most  gracious  will: 

All  to  the  feast  are  bidden 
Who  toward  this  glory  bear  a  part, 

However  small  or  hidden. 
Go,  asking  heart,  take  then  thy  place, 

Fill  thine  appointed  measure  ; 
Bring  gift  of  silver  or  of  gold, 

Or  aught  of  richest  treasure. 

Or  bring  but  myrrh  or  precious  spice, 

Or  for  this  Bride's  adorning, 
Bring  even  one  bright  glowing  thread, 

No  smallest  offering  scorning. 
So  shalt  thou  hear  the  Bridegroom's  call, 

So  in  His  thought  be  holden, 
When  He  His  Church  shall  wed — the  true 

"Jerusalem  the  Golden  I  " 


HIS  NAME. 

"  *^T"AMES  name  thee  not !  "    How  many 

-L-^l  years  have  died 

Since  first  Bettina  wrote  the  glowing  words 
For  Goethe's  careless,  unresponsive  heart. 
How  long  ago  they  dropped  into  the  soil 
Of  my  own  childish,  scarcely  wakened  thought. 
The  book — "  Bettina's   Letters  " — passed  and 

perished 
Out  of  sight  and  mind.     One  fairest  seed 
Alone  was  left  within  its  living  cell 
To  grow  up  pulse  by  pulse,  each  graver  year, 
From  good  to  better  use,  from  height  to  height. 

First,  to  the  dearest  friend  my  happy  days 
Of  school-life  knew,  I  said  with  fervent  voice, 
" '  Names  name  thee  not,'  nor  tell  of  all  thou 

art 
To  me."     Strange  name  she  bore,  which  suit- 
ed well 
The  subtle  charm  she  wove  about  my  heart. 

C29) 


30  HIS  NAME. 

Named  Amuletta,*  like  an  amulet,  indeed, 
About  my  love  and  life,  she  hung  her  love, 
Her  very  self.    And  school-girl-wise,  pet  names 
We  had,  which  sought  the  depths  and  heights 

for  words 
In  which  to  give  our  love  expression  meet ; 
Yet  oft,  when  all  was  done,  unsatisfied 
I  looked  into  the  eyes  of  Heaven's  own  blue, 
And  said,"  Beloved  one/  names  name  thee  not.' " 

But  tides  of  time  ebbed  on  and  flowed  again, 
Our  school-days  passed,  and  Amuletta  went 
Away  to  Heaven,  and  came  a  day  I  looked 
Yet  once  again,  with  stronger,  higher  love, 
In  eyes  whose  sweetest  light  shone  but  for  me, 
And  said — with  dearest  names  thrown  in  be- 
tween— 
" '  Names  name  thee  not,'  nor  tell  of  all  thou 

art 
To  me."    And  this  seemed  love's  last,  perfect 
word. 


*  Amuletta  Howard  Kinney.     Died  in  1862  at  Mott  Ha- 
ven, N.  Y. 


HIS  NAME.  31 

So  rose  and  fell  the  year's  swift  stream  again, 
And  as  it  ran,  the  perfect  words  revealed 
Perpetually,  a  new  and  higher  thought ; 
Each  year  they  grew  in  sacredness  and  depth, 
As  love,  in  highest  and  divinest  mould, 
Took  firmer,  deeper  place  within  my  soul, 
Until  at  last,  I  said  them  soft  and  low, 
In  secret  "  silent  chapel  of  my  heart " — 
I  said  them  under  breath,  in  reverent  hush 
Of  prayer  to  One  alone,  and  evermore 
I  keep  them  close  and  holy  unto  Him. 
Names  name  Him  not  to  me.     No  name  can 

reach 
The  height  and  depth,  the  length  and  breadth, 

of  love 
All  wonderful,  unspeakable,  that  lives 
In  Him,  the  Father's  perfect  Word  to  man. 


Yet  many  names,  most  tender  and  most  sweet, 
He  hath,  which  down  the  path  of  Holy  Writ, 
His  fingers  dropped  like  flowers  with  fragrant 

breath 
Pervading  all  the  Church's  heart  and  life. 


32  HIS  NAME. 

Soft  comfort-names,  that  come  and  go,  through 

clouds 
Of  weariness  and  gloom — our  Refuge,  Strength, 
Our  Presence-angel,  Shepherd,  Saviour,  Rest. 

Low  sorrow-names,  that  softly  wander 

In  and  out  through  griefs  too  deep  to  speak— 

the  Man 
Of  Sorrows,  One  with  grief  acquainted  well, 
Our  Burden-bearer,  our  atoning  Lamb. 

Grand  glory-names,  that  roll  like  loftiest  strain 
Of  song,  through  loftiest  mood — Immanuel, 
King  of  kings,  Jehovah,  Prince  of  Peace, 
Eternal  One  who  sits  in  majesty 
Upon  earth's  circle,  while  the  nations  count 
But  as  the  small  dust  in  the  balances. 

And  tender  household-names,  that  link  the  life 
Of  every  day's  most  common  need,  to  life 
Beside  the  Throne — our  Father  pitiful, 
Our  elder  Brother,  and  the  Friend  most  near. 

And  sweetest  names  of  love  that  fill  the  sou) 
In  hcurs  of  holiest  fellowship  with  Hirn — 


HIS  NAME.  33 

Beloved,  Chief  among  ten  thousand, 
Altogether  Lovely,  Sharon's  wondrous  Rose, 
And  that  best,  crowning  name — our  Jesus — 

name 
That  like' a  perfect  chord,  holds  every  name 
And  tone  of  love,  complete  within  itself. 

Ah,  yes — most  precious  names — I  count 
Them  o'er  and  o'er,  as  miser  doth  his  hoard 
Of  costliest  gems,  and  yet,  when  all  is  done, 
To  dead  Bettina's  deep  and  soulful  words, 
I  turn  again,  and  say  in  tenderest  hush, 
On  bended  knee,  "  Names  name  thee  not ! " 


ASLEEP. 

WITH  curls  in  golden  clusters, 
And  soft,  half-opened  eyes, 
The  baby  lay  as  one  entranced 
By  some  divine  surprise, 

While  fragrant  breathed  about  her, 
Sweet,  white,  half-opened  buds — 

The  hands  rose-clasped,  the  little  robe 
Bound  with  the  snowy  studs. 

u  O  blessed  sleep  of  childhood, 
So  far  from  eyes  of  mine," 
One  said.  "  Would  God  such  slumber 
Might  crown  my  head  as  thine !  " 

But  lo  !  as  we  drew  nearer, 

Deep  wonder  caught  the  breath — 

The  couch  was  a  burial-casket, 
And  the  sleep  was  the  sleep  of  death  J 
(34) 


ASLEEP.  35 

And  still  one  said,  "Blest  childhood  1 
Thrice-hallowed,  happy  sleep ! 

O  wondrous  consummation, 
For  which  I  wait  and  weep  ! " 

There  fell  a  voice  in  answer : 
"  The  baby  sleeps,  indeed  ; 
"  Yet  wrought  its  baby-mission, 
Fulfilling  all  its  need. 

"  So  thou,  dear  heart,  be  patient, 
Give  Christ  thy  griefs  to  keep* 
And  learn  that  so,  He  giveth 
To  His  bdo\  ed,  sleep  1 " 


IN    VISION. 

ANNUNCIATION. 

AN  angel  stood  at  night  within  the  door, 
Light  from  the  inner  glory  on  his  face : 
'  A  message  from  the  King,"  he  said,  "  for  thou 
Art  called  and  chosen,  with  the  hosts  to  march, 
That  follow  him  to  victory  or  to  death. 
Behold  the  shield  of  promise  He  hath  sent : 
'  They  shall  have  great  reward  who  follow  me  ; 
Right  royally  shall  they  be  robed  and  crowned, 
Nor  shall  they  be  without  a  wondrous  sign 
Whereby  shall  all  men   know  that  they  are 

mine.' 
Thus  art  thou  chosen  with  His  hosts  to  march, 
Arise  and  follow  where  His  banner  leads." 

RENUNCIATION. 

Then  straight  responsive  to  the  heavenly  call, 
My  soul  made  answer  in  its  fervent  joy  : 
u  I  lay  all  down  before  this  glorious  King — 
All  life's  dear  sanctities  and  sweetest  hopes, 
(36) 


IN   VISION.  37 

All  mind,  all  holy  places  of  the  heart ; 
And  in  that  heart,  whatever  other  name 
Hath  reigned  supreme,  I  tear  the  leaf  out  here, 
And  leave  the  page  unsoiled  and  blank  for  Him, 
I  keep  not  back  one  thing,  nor  hold  one  power 
Mine  own.    Henceforth  I  march  by  day  and 

night, 
Close  in  the  footsteps  of  this  conquering  King, 
Nor  turn  aside  for  any  joy,  save  that 
He  giveth  me." 

FULFILLMENT. 

The  King's  great  army  marcheth  ever  on. 

For   me — my    strength    is   well-nigh    spent 
though  through 

Long  days  and  nights  of  heat  and  cold  I  went, 

Though  close  I  held  that  glorious  promise- 
shield, 

And  wondered  why  fulfillment  never  came. 

And  now,  I  lie  alone — the  troops  pass  by, 

The  King  himself  hath  deigned  no  look,  no 
word; 

What  have  I  now,  of  all  He  promised  me  ? 

The  royal  robe  is  garment  rough,  of  pain. 


38  IN  VISION, 

The  wondrous  sign  is  but  a  blood-stained crosa* 
The  crown  He  gave,  was  but  a  crown  of  thorns, 
And  thus  I  die  alone,  without  my  King. 
My  King !     Ah,  there  is  where'the  cruel  pain 
Hurts  most,  for  Him  I  love  beyond  compare, 
And  for  one  smile  from  that  majestic  face, 
I'd  count  all  loss  but  gain,  and  march  once 

more 
Through  all  these  days  and  nights  of  heat  and 

cold 
Content  to  die  at  last  of  but  one  kiss 
From  that  most  perfect  mouth  upon  my  lips. 

Ah,  what  is  this  ?     Those  tender  lips  touch 

mine ! 
My  heart,  of  rapture  dies,  beneath  that  smile  I 
Content,  content,  my  whole  reward  is  won  ! 

AT   LAST. 

"  At  last,"  you  say  ?   Ah,  no,  not  last — 'tis  first, 
'Tis  but  beginning — this  glad  triumphant  life 
On  the  celestial  hills  !  what  time  my  soul 
Went  up  from  earth,  with  that  divinest  kiss 
Close  folded  on  my  lips,  that  wondrous  smile 


IN  VISION.  39 

Far-reaching  to  my  inmost  heart  of  love, 
The  angel  stood  again  with  message  sweet — 
"The  King  hath  said   thy  name  before  the 

throne, 
Now  is  the  promise  near  and  sure  reward, 
Now  take  thy  robe,  thy  crown,  thy  holy  sign." 
At  last  ?    Ah,  no  ;  but  first  and  evermore 
I  wear  this  fair  white  linen  of  the  saints, 
His  name  upon  my  forehead  for  a  sign, 
My  crowR  a  royal  diadem  of  stars  ! 
Yet  here  as  there,  I  give  my  all  to  Him, 
My  King,  and  in  renunciation  glad, 
I  cast  my  crown,  my  soul,  at  His  dear  feet ! 


OUT   OF    THE   SHADOW. 

ALL  through  the  day,  the  heavy  tumuli 
stirred, 
And  noises  loud   and    angry   round  me 
rolled ; 
A  lingering  thunder,  muttering  wrath  and 
pain, 
Seemed  all  the  happy  heights  in  night  to 
fold. 

Strive  as  I  might,  the  hills  of  faith  and  hope 
Grew  darker,  higher,  harder  still  to  climb 

Eternity's  far  outlook  and  unfathomed  deeps, 
Seemed  bounded  by  the  littleness  of  Time. 

Then  close  around  me,  Doubt,  his  blackness 
drew, 
While  strong  Apollyon   threw   his    fiery 
darts — 
Alas,  where  was  my  armor,  strong  and  true, 
That   he  could  reach  my  very  heart  of 
hearts ! 
(40) 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW.  41 

With   poison  tongue  was    every  arrow  tip- 
ped— 

«  He  saith  "  —  "  He  saith  "  —  "  but  oh   He 
doeth  not," 
1  He  will   not  give  good   gifts,  as   He  hath 
said  " — 

"His  promised   mercy  He  hath  clean  for- 
got." 

No  mother  would  say  '  nay '  to  any  child 
Who  lifted  up  such  longing,  pleading  cry, 

And  yet — He  is  more  ready,  doth  He  say  ? 
Ah,  no — no  mother  would,  like  Him,  deny." 

Thus  rained  the  fiery  storm  upon  my  soul, 
Each  dart  a  blinding  lance  through  Doubt's 
black  night, 
Till  stricken,  bruised,  and  wounded  nigh  to 
death, 
I  yielded  in  despair  th'  unequal  fight. 

Then   in  Despair's  yet  blacker  night  than 
Doubt's, 
Left  there  for  dead  by  Doubt  and  Hell's 
ally, 


j2  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW. 

He  whom  I  had  reviled  came  unto  me, 
With  loving  touch  His  healing  to  apply. 

But  there  Despair  and  Shame   'twixt  Hiifl 
and  me, 
Joined  hands  to  keep  from  me  that  sweet- 
est balm, 
Yet  o'er  their  height  looked  down  His  tender 
eyes, 
And  held    me  with  their  deep,  divinest 
calm. 

So  once  those  eyes  had  turned  in  priestly  hall, 
Past  all  the  mocking  throng  to  one  alone  ; 

So  broke  my  heart  with  love's  sweet  sad  re- 
proach, 
.So  folded  He  again  His  strayed — His  own  ! 


"FAULTLESS." 

Jude,  ver.  24. 

■«  TpAULTLESS  in  His  glory's  presence  ! 
-L       All  the  soul  within  me  stirred, 
All  my  heart  reached  up  to  heaven 
At  the  wonder  of  that  word. 

"  Able  to  present  me  faultless  ? 

Lord,  forgive  my  doubt,"  I  cried; 
"  Thou  didst  once,  to  loving  doubt,  show 

Hands  and  feet  and  riven  side. 

Oh,  for  me,  build  up  some  ladder, 
Bright  with  golden  round  on  round, 

That  my  hope  this  word  may  compass, 
Reaching  Faith's  high  vantage-ground  ! 

Praying  thus,  behold,  my  ladder, 

Reaching  unto  perfect  day, 
Grew  from  out  a  simple  story 

Dropped  by  some  one  in  the  way. 
(43) 


44  "FAULTLESS." 

Once  a  queen — so  ran  the  story — 
Seeking  far  for  something  new, 

Found  it  in  a  mill,  where,  strangely, 
Naught  but  rags  repaid  her  view. 

Rags  from  out  the  very  gutters, 

Rags  of  every  shape  and  hue, 
While  the  squalid  children,  picking, 

Seemed  but  rags  from  hair  to  shoe. 

•  What  then,"  rang  her  eager  question, 

"  Can  you  do  with  things  so  vile  ?  " 

"  Mould  them  into  perfect  whiteness," 

Said  the  master  with  a  smile. 

Whiteness  ?  "  quoth  the  queen,  half-doubting 
"  ifut  these  reddest,  crimson  dyes — 
Surely  naught  can  ever  whiten 
These  to  fitness  in  your  eyes  ?  ' 

Yes,"  he  said,  "  though  these  are  colors 

Hardest  to  remove  of  all, 
Still  I  have  the  power  to  make  them 

Like  the  snowflake  in  its  fall." 


"FAULTLESS."  45 

Through  my  heart  the  words  so  simple 
Throbbed  with  echo  in  and  out ; 
■  Crimson  "  —  "  scarlet  "  —  "  white  as    snow 
flake  "— 
Can  this  man  ?  and  can  God  not  ? 

Now  upon  a  day  thereafter, 
(Thus  the  tale  went  on  at  will,) 

To  the  queen  there  came  a  present 
From  the  master  at  the  mill. 

Fold  on  fold  of  fairest  texture, 

Lay  the  paper,  purest  white  ; 
On  each  sheet  there  gleamed  the  letters 

Of  her  name  in  golden  light. 

"  Precious  lesson,"  wrote  the  master, 
"  Hath  my  mill  thus  given  me, 
Showing  how  our  Christ  can  gather 
Vilest  hearts  from  land  or  sea ; 

1  In  some  heavenly  alembic, 

Snowy  white  from  crimson  bring, 
Stamp  his  name  on  each,  and  bear  them 
To  the  palace  of  the  King." 


48  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

Slowly — ah,  Heaven  !  the  gates  seem  to  move. 

Now  hither,  now  thither  they  sway ; 
Watching,  and  fearing,  and  weeping,  I  lie, 

Too  sick  with  my  anguish  to  pray. 

Father,  my  Father,  forgive  my  wild  cry — 

I  know  not  what  I  have  said  ! 
The  portals  stand  wide,  in  the  terrible  night, 

And  I  am  alone  with  my  dead  ! 

II. 

Ah,  wonderful !  wonderful !  Here  in  the  night 
One  giveth  me  songs  for  my  tears — 

One  saith,  "/am  here  in  the  valley  with  thee; 
/  carry  thy  griefs  and  thy  fears." 

Ah,   wonderful!    wonderful!      Here  on   His 
breast, 

Like  John,  the  beloved,  I  lie — 
My  passionate  prayer  sinks  sobbing,  to  rest— 

'Tis  Jesus,  to  live  or  to  die. 

Thy  sweet  human  life  is  over — 'tis  well — 
It  was  Jesus  for  thee  and  for  me  ! 

I  linger  below,  and  still  it  is  well, 
It  is  Jesus  for  me  ari  for  thee  ! 


A  MEMORY. 

"  rFlHE  same  old  house,"  do  you  call  it? 
-L      Yet  it's  fifteen  years,  you  say, 
Since  you  stepped  across  its  threshold — 
So  long  you  have  been  away. 

But  those  years  are  such  a  gulf,  dear ; 

And  a  house,  like  a  face,  may  change ; 
If  you  look  at  this  one  intently, 

It  will  seem  half-new  and  strange. 

The  oriel-window  is  darkened, 

The  sunny  side-porch  is  still, 
And  you  miss  the  old-time  laughter 

That  once  rung  over  the  hill. 

Ah,  now  you  ask  for  the  voices, 
Recalling  them  name  by  name ; 
**  Where  then,"  you  say,  "is  Great- Heart  Phil  ? 
Aad  is  scapegrace  Ned  the  same  ? 


50  A  MEMORY. 

"  And  fair,  sweet,  serious  Helen, 
Queen  Alice,  and  loving  May  ? 
Why,  baby  Maud  is  a  woman  grown, 
I  suppose,  since  I  went  away  ?  " 

Ah,  me,  I  will  tell  you  the  story ; 

It  seems  so  long  ago 
That  all  this  bright  tide  vanished 

Out  of  life's  ebb  and  flow. 

And  the  house  has  stood  in  its  silence 

So  long,  apart  from  the  strife, 
Like  a  dim,  sweet  sanctuary, 

Full  of  an  unseen  life. 

It  was  only  the  year  that  you  left  us, 
Queen  Alice  forsook  her  throne ; 

Though  she  reigned  in  so  many  loving  heait9, 
She  must  go  at  last  alone. 

Then  Great-Heart  Phil — did  you  never  heal 

Of  the  cruel  watery  strife  ? 
He  saved  his  friend,  but  the  icy  waves 

Closed  over  his  own  brave  life. 


A  MEMORY.  51 

Then  sweet-ayed,  thoughtful  Helen, 
Who  had  leaned  on  the  manly  strength. 

Though  she  tried  to  five  for  the  others, 
Drooped  and  yielded  at  length. 

So  half  the  voices  had  vanished, 
And  dear,  wild,  thoughtless  Ned 

Grew  silent,  and  played,  in  a  tender  way, 
With  Maud's  little  golden  head. 

But  the  bright  little  head  grew  weary, 
The  sweet  voice  pleaded  for  rest, 

And  the  Shepherd,  hearing  His  lamb's  low 
cry, 
Qose  folded  her  to  His  breast. 

Then  Ned  grew  bitter  "at  Fate,'*  he  said, 
And  was  reckless  and  wild  again, 

Though  the  sweet,   old  generous  impulses 
lived 
Under  all  the  terrible  strain. 

And  at  last  the  glorious  morning 

Rose  radiant  out  of  the  night, 
And  the  willful,  loving,  penitent  child 

Passed  up  into  God's  own  light. 


S2  A  MEMORY. 

"  So  sad  a  tale,"  you  say ;  you  are  "  sure 
That  dear  little  May  still  lives." 
Alas,  but  no  !  she  sleeps  the  sleep 
That  God  to  His  loved  ones  gives. 

1  And  what,"  you  ask,  "  of  the  mother, 
So  smitten  with  blow  on  blow  ?  " 
But  I  told  you  the  house  was  a  temple, 
And  the  temple  all  aglow. 

For  a  house,  through  such  solemn  chrism, 

Grows  either  a  temple  or  grave  ; 
And  through  anguish  this  mother  whispered 
"  He  takes  but  that  which  He  gave ; 

u  And  shall  I  be  hard  and  rebellious 
While  they  in  the  God-light  shine  ? 
O,  Father,  my  Father,  I  thank  Thee 
That  they  are  both  mine  and  Thine. 

"  And  what  now  to  Thee  shall  I  render, 
For  these  laid-up  treasures,"  she  cried  ; 

u  Tenfold  I  will  strive  to  bring  with  me 
When  I  come  at  the  eventide. 


A   MEMORY. 


53 


1  Ten  priceless  souls  I  will  bring  Thee 
For  my  first-born's  harvest  home ; 
And — ten  ?  twice  ten,  for  the  precious  child 


Who  never  again  can  roam. 


■  And  five  and  three  I  will  bring  thee, 

And  two  and  one,  I  will  say, 

For  my  darlings,  Helen  and  Alice, 

For  baby  Maud  and  my  May. 

*  No  hour  for  grief  and  repining, 
But  each  grateful  hour  for  Thee. 
To  repay  Thee  ?    Ah,  ?iever,  my  Father, 
It  is  only  Love's  prompting  in  me." 

And  so  it  is  that  at  day-dawn, 

The  loving  service  begins, 
And  she  sees  her  Philip,  her  Helen, 

In  each  dear  soul  that  she  wins. 

And  if,  perchance,  in  the  noontide, 

Some  prodigal  prays  at  last, 
'Tis  her  wayward  Ned  that  she  kisses, 

As  she  did  in  the  happy  past. 


56  "PAPA'S  LITTLE  GIRL? 

But  even  when  his  icy  breath 

Touched  lip,  and  cheek  and  sunny  curl, 
The  sweet,  pathetic  voice  still  said, 
"I'm  Papa's  little  girl." 

A  fearful  hush,  a  cold  despair, 

Fell  through  the  world's  gay  restless  whirl 
It  seemed  the  very  birds  and  flowers 

Missed  "  Papa's  little  girl." 

And  though  she  walk  the  golden  streets, 

And  stand  within  the  gates  of  pearl, 
Oh,  will  not  God  remember,  she 

Was  "  Papa's  little  girl  ? ' 

Aye,  when  His  perfect  heavenly  peace 

Shall  follow  all  the  earthly  whirl, 
Faith  whispers  glad,  she  will  again 
Be  "  Papa's  little  girl." 


PARTING. 

WHAT   shall    I    say   to   thee,   sweetest, 
kneeling  beside  thee  in  tears  ? 
Knowing  that  here  ends  the  measure  of  all  thy 

beautiful  years ; 
Feeling  the  death-seal  of  silence,  between  us 

henceforth  from  this  day, 
Which,  of  all  lovingest  things  that  my  heart 
for  thee  holds,  shall  I  say  ? 

Can  I  beg  thee  for  dear  words  of  parting,  with 

eager  and  passionate  breath  ? 
Or  lament  thy  so  instant  transition  from  life  to 

this  marble  of  death  ? 
And  if  I  named  all  thou  art  leaving,  should  it 

be  indeed  matter  of  grief, 
That  thou  leavest  the  sowing  for  reaping — the 

seed  for  the  full-ripened  sheaf? 
(57) 


58  PARTING. 

But  what  hast  thou  left,  then,  dear  sleeper,  of 
all  that  the  soul  counteth  worth ; 

Opening  thine  eyes  upon  Heaven,  as  they 
closed  on  the  gladness  of  earth  ? 

Thou  art  gone  from  this  flower-crowned  bright- 
ness, to  God's  glowing  garden  above  ; 

Gone  from  our  poor,  anxious  loving,  to  infinite 
riches  of  love. 

No  shadow  of  death  on  thy  pathway,  no  river 

in  struggle  to  cross ; 
No  anguish  or  trial  of  parting,  no  moment  to 

picture  a  loss ; 
But  in  one  happy  instant,  the  angel  who  carries 

the  golden  key, 
Hath  unlocked  the  wonderful  portals,  arid  open 

ed  all  Heaven  to  thee  ! 

O  mystic,   unspeakable  glory!    I   linger  and 

listen  outside, 
Though  I  catch  but  in  echo  the  faintest,  the 

joy  of  the  on-swelling  tide ; 
But  I  know  thou  art  there  with  the  harpers,  on 

the  banks  of  the  crystal  sea, 
And  knowing  such  things,  I  can  say,  dearest, 

only  one  thing  unto  thee. 


PARTING.  59 

See,  I  place  in  thy  hand  these  lilies,  like  those 

that  the  angel  brought 
For  the  day  of  annunciation,  and  I  have  but 

this  one  glad  thought ; 
Pressing  my  kisses  down  on  thy  death-sweet 

face,  I  say 
From  my  heart  of  hearts,  my  darling,  I  give 

thee  joy  of  this  day ! 


SUNSET. 

AT  EIGHTY-SIX. 

AFAR  from  thee,  dear  friend,  to-day 
I  dwell  with  loving  thought 
On  all  the  story  of  thy  life, 

With  joys  and  griefs  inwrought. 

I  think  of  all  the  weary  way 
Thy  pilgrim  feet  have  trod — 

Of  "years  gone  down  into  the  past," 
Whose  record  is  with  God. 

Of  all  thy  tender,  patient  trust, 

Of  all  thy  calm,  sweet  faith, 
Which  ne\  er  asked  for  better  oath 

Than  just  His  own  "  He  saith" 

Which  walked  alike  in  light  or  dark, 

While  Jesus  walked  beside, 
And  took  the  joys  God  offered  here, 

Nor  craved  the  joy  denied. 
(60) 


SUNSET.  6l 

So  simply  walking,  with  thy  hand 

Close  clasped  in  His  each  day, 
Most  faithfully  His  covenant 

He  kept  with  thee  alway 

In  joy's  bright  day,  He  saved  thee  from 

The  tempter's  subtle  power  ; 
In  sorrow's  night,  He  hid  thee  deep 

Within  His  refuge-tower. 

The  many  thorns  thy  feet  have  pressed, 

His  own  had  pressed  before  ; 
Thy  sad  temptations  too  He  knew. 

In  many  a  conflict  sore. 

And  oft,  when  these  were  overcome, 

And  Hope  might  sing  again, 
He  brought  thee  to  some  mountain's  heighf 

O'erlooking  all  the  plain  ; 

Whence,  glancing  down,  thou  saw'st  with  jof 

The  fearful  path  escaped, 
And  glancing  up,  didst  catch  a  glimpse 

Of  Eden's  distant  gate. 


62  SUNSET. 

And  so,  through  all  the  years  thou'rt  come, 

Up  to  this  peaceful  shore, 
Where  "  only  waiting  "  thou  dost  stand, 

Till  Jesus  go  before. 

Thy  pilgrim  staff  is  bent  and  old, 

Thy  sandals  poor  and  worn, 
Thy  garments  gray  and  travel-stained, 

Thy  red-cross  banner  torn. 

Yet  patient  wait — thy  pilgrim  staff 

A  waving  palm  shall  be ; 
Thy  sandals  gold,  thy  garments  white, 

Thy  banner  victory. 

The  bridgeless  river  just  beyond, 

The  pilgrim  way  behind, 
So  rest  in  Beulah's  pleasant  land, 

With  glad,  untroubled  mind. 

For  far  across  the  gloomy  wave 

Doth  heavenly  music  ring ; 
And  gleaming  Eden-lights  reveal 

The  City  of  our  King. 


SUNSET,  63 

And,  as  in  evening's  sunset-glow 

An  angel  seems  to  stand, 
And  holding  wide  the  pearly  gate, 

With  glory  floods  the  land : 

So,  in  thy  life's  sweet  sunset  hour 

I  seem  to  see  thee  wait, 
Touched  with  the  glory  streaming  through 

The  softly-opened  gate. 

So  rest  thee  here,  dear  pilgrim,  till 

The  splendor  brighter  falls, 
And  thou  shalt  be  at  home  within 

The  City's  golden  walls. 


AT  THE  RIVER. 

HERE,  at  the  River,  we  meet  then  at  last* 
And  the  meeting  is  gladness  and  pain  j 
For  'tis  only  this  hour,  here  on  the  shore, 
The  next  we  are  parted  again. 

But  the  sad,  sad  years  are  over,  thank  God, 
And  the  parting  cannot  be  long  ; 

It  is  this  that  hushes  my  beating  heart. 
As  the  waves  roll  up  so  strong. 

It  is  just  the  very  old  story,  Paul, 

Of  Israel,  after  the  sea — 
These  sorrowful  years  of  our  wandering, 

That  have  chastened  you  and  me. 

Our  promised  land  was  almost  in  sight, 
The  journey  was  smooth  and  brief, 

Yet  we  turned  the  way  of  the  wilderness, 
Though  both  hearts  broke  with  their  grfci. 
(64) 


A  T  THE  FIVER.  65 

And  now,  we  are  linking  that  hour  with  this, 

And  all  that  has  gone  between 
Is  like  a  long,  long  loop  that  is  made 

In  the  winding  of  a  stream. 

What  was,  and  what  might  be,  were  once  so 
close, 

That  a  step  had  joined  them  then  ; 
But  we  each  stood  out,  across  the  strait, 

Till  the  wilderness  began. 

Ah,  well,  the  time  is  long  ago, 

And  the  dear  Lord  cares  for  all ; 
Though  bearing  the  scales  to  weigh  His  worlds, 

He  follows  the  sparrow's  fall. 

And  so,  though  we  walked  in  the  wilderness, 

An  angel  walked  with  us  there ; 
Our  raiment  upon  us  waxed  not  old, 

And  a  gift  ever  answered  a  prayer. 

Ever  into  His  sovereign,  loving  will, 

Converged  our  crookedest  lines, 
And  the  pillar  of  cloud,  and  the  pillar  of  fire, 

Were  equally  guiding  signs. 


66  A  T  THE  RIVER. 

And  though  we  journeyed  so  widely  apart, 
With  either,  by  day  or  by  night, 

The  Covenant  Angel  dwelt  in  them  both. 
And  both  led  up  to  the  light. 

And  this  sad,  sweet  hour,  here  on  the  shore, 
Is  our  Lord's  last,  precious  gift ; 

But  our  hands  unclasp,  and  the  angel  waits, 
And  the  current  is  strong  and  swift. 

And  so  I  kiss  you  good-night,  dear  Paul, 
Here,  at  the  River,  good-night. 

The  hours  grow  brief — we  shall  meet  again.- 
In  the  morning's  abiding  light. 


"AND  THERE  WAS  LIGHT." 

41  Let  in  the  morning,  mother— let  in  the  morning."  * 

"  ~T~    ET  in  the  morning,"  the  dear  voice  be- 

J-^         sought, 

When  the  last  sad  morning  broke ; 
For  with  night  in  our  hearts  we  had  shut  it  out 

Till  his  eyes  beseeching  spoke. 

"  God's  beautiful  morning,  let  it  in — 

Let  in  each  blessed  ray ; 
My  soul  cannot  bear  the  darkness  now, 

So  near  to  the  endless  day. 

"  Sweet  glimpses  I've  had  of  the  other  shore, 
That  made  earth's  sunshine  dim  ; 

How  heavy  must  be  earth's  darkness  then — 
OH,  let  the  morning  in. 

"  'Tis  God's  fair  herald  to  open  the  gates 

Of  the  glad  eternal  day, 
With  its  flaming  torch  flung  out  on  high 

To  show  my  feet  the  way. 

*  E.  L.  G. — Fifteen  years. 

(67) 


68        "AND  THERE   WAS  LIGHT." 

"  And  I  love  the  flowers  that  softly  breathe 
Their  voiceless  praise  to  Him, 

And  all  bright,  blessed  things  that  live- 
On,  let  the  morning  in." 

And  the  sun  poured  in  his  beautiful  light, 
And  the  flowers  their  burden  rare, 

And  the  careless  birds  went  singing  by 
In  the  tender  April  air. 

But  lo  !  a  light  from  no  earthly  orb, 

Lay  pure  on  the  brow  within, 
And  before  the  world's  fair  day  had  died, 

God  let  His  morning  in. 

Through  the  crystal  gate  of  the  jeweled  court 
Where  the  heavenly  morning  reigns, 

From  the  Fountain  of  Light  the  golden  flood 
Burst  o'er  the  glowing  plains. 

And  over  the  Temple's  flashing  door, 

In  radiant  lines  of  light, 
Was  the  King's  sweet  pledge  to  His  ransomed 
ones : 

"  There  shall  be  no  more  night." 


DE    PROFUNDIS. 

«  /^\UT  of  the  depths,  0  God,  out  of  rvkai 
vJ/      depths," 

A  mourner  saith ; 
"  Even  out  of  the  awful  shadows 

Of  the  mystery  of  death  ! 

"  Back  from  its  dark  and  sternly-guarded  gate, 
I  come  alone, 
And  in  the  dust  in  utterest  need  and  grief, 
I  make  my  moan. 

"  All  life's  sweet  roses,  rich  in  fragrant  bloom, 
Lie  heaped  around ; 
I  heed  them  not ;  the  only  flower  I  loved, 
In  death  is  bound. 

"  Father,  I  cannot  look  into  the  face 
Of  thy  glad  morn  ; 
O  take  from  out  my  bleeding  heart 

This  sharp,  sharp  thorn." 


(69) 


70  DE  PROFUNDIS. 

"  Into  the  depths,  oh,  child,  into  what  depths/ 

A  sweet  Voice  saith, 
*  Even  into  more  awful  shadows  than 

The  mystery  of  Death. 

M  Into  such  depths,  for  purest  love  of  thee 
I  went  alone ; 
Despised,  condemned,  forsaken,  none  were  left 
To  heed  my  moan. 

1  All  fragrance  fills  thy  path — alas  !  in  mine 

No  flower  was  found ; 
Thou  hast  one  thorn — with  plaited  wreath  of 
thorns 

Thy  Lord  was  crowned. 

"  For  tenderest  love  of  thee,  my  stricken  child, 
I  bore  the  smart 
And  all  that  fearful  agony  that  broke 
My  weary  heart. 

And  can  it  be,  this  dying  love  for  thee 

Was  all  in  vain  ? 
With  murmur  and  reproach,  wilt  crucify 

Thy  Lord  again  ? 


DE  PROFIT NDIS.  71 

1  My  child,  my  child,  I  thought  thy  Saviour  had 

That  heart  of  thine. 
Behold,  I  plead  with  thee — how  can  I  give 
thee  up  ? 

Art  thou  not  mine  ? 

1  Is  not  my  death  for  thee,  sufficient  pledge 

That  every  pain, 
And  every  loss  I  send  thee,  is  to  bring 

Some  greater  gain  ? 

Oh,  trust  thy  risen  Lord,  and  now  return 

Unto  thy  rest ; 
Go,  press  life's  fragrant  flowers,  thy  Father's 
gifts, 

Unto  thy  breast. 


On  some  bright  hill,  in  some  revealing  hour, 

Of  Heaven's  glad  morn, 
Thy  heart  shall  know  the  meaning  deep  and 
sweet, 

Of  this  one  thorn." 


74  A  CHRISTMAS  MEMORY. 

While  rarest  flowering-forth  of  fair  ideal 
From  sculptor's  brain  in  marble  or  in  bronze, 
Decked  all  the  place,  each  one  a  poor  man's 
wealth. 

Thus  viewing  all,  we  questioned  each  of  each, 
What  Christ's  old  Galilean  Peter,  who 
For  Romans  holds  the  keys  of  heaven  and  hell, 
Would  once  have  thought  or  felt,  to  call  himself 
The  lord  of  all  this  regal  pomp,  or  find 
Himself  at  ease  within  these  storied  walls. 
We  pictured  himt  upon  that  royal  chair 
They  called  a  throne  —  then  smiled  at  such 

grotesque, 
Incongruous  fancy,  linked  with  him  who  kept 
His  humble  trade  of  fisherman  intact, 
And  drew  his  fisher's  net,  at  last,  to  shore 
With  priceless  souls,  its  burden,  for  his  Lord. 

At  last,  'mid  all  the  splendor  of  the  place, 
One  sweet  white  thought  came  like  a  snowy 

dove, 
And  nestling,  made  that  sunny  day  its  own. 
At  last  the  Christ  Himself  had  one  small  space 
Within  the  royal  home  of  His  self-styled 


A  CHRISTMAS  MEMORY.  75 

Vicegerent.     Looking  upward  where  we  stood, 
Not  great  except  in  thought,  nor  finely  wrought, 
Yet  filling  all  our  hearts  with  beautiful  intent, 
One  soft,  fair  fresco  crowned  the  stately  room. 
And  this  the  picture  which  we  wondering  viewed : 

Down  from  Judean  hills,  and  far  across 
Arabia's  desert  sands,  from  Chebar's  banks, 
From   temple -porch,   from   Bethel's  prophet- 
school, 
And  forth  from  Babylon's  great  palace-gate, 
Captive  or  free,  the  grand  procession  came, 
"  The  goodly  fellowship  "  of  Israel's  seers, 
Sweeping  in  triumph-march  across  the  plain. 
First  he,  the  poet-prophet  with  his  harp 
Attuned  to  loftier  praise  and  nobler  psalm 
Than  e'er  of  old  had  lived  and  thrilled  through 

all 
The  choral  music  of  the  temple  rites ; 
Then  that  rapt  seraph-heart,  which  beat  and 

burned 
Within  Isaiah's  bosom,  flamed  in  joy 
Into  the  heavenly  face  upturned  to  God, 
Fast  following  on  the  steps  of  Judah's  bard  ; 
Next  he  whose  sad  lament  o'er  Zion's  fall. 


76  A  CHRISTMAS  MEMORY. 

Once  swept  his   page  with  mournful  minor 

chord, 
Now  wept  for  joy,  at  gladder  prophecies 
Fulfilled  ;  while  one,  who  wondrous  visions  saw 
Upon  the  river's  banks  in  Chaldean  lands, 
Now  seemed  as  lifted  up  himself,  on  that 
Same  chariot  of  fire-enfolded  wheel 
With  flaming  eyes,  and  winged  cherubim, 
He  saw  from  out  the  whirlwind  as  it  passed ; 
And  He  who  told  Belshazzar's  doom,  and  saw 
The  images  of  kingdoms  yet  unborn, 
Fall  crumbling  at  the  touch  of  that  great  stone 
That  without  hands  was  from  the  mountain  cut, 
He  too  with  all  the  gathering  sweeping  train 
Took  up  one  joyous  song  of  raptured  praise — 
"  To  us  a  Child  is  born,  a  Son  is  given — 
The  Wonderful,  the  Counsellor — behold 
Our  Prince  of  Peace  " — and  as  we  gazed,  we 

seemed 
Again  to  hear  the  hallelujah  swell 
As  from  orchestral  harmonies,  poured  forth 
In  music  palpitant — "  Thou  Wonderful ! 
Thou   Counsellor !     Thou   mighty   Prince   of 

Peace ! 


A  CHRIST  MA  S  MEM  OR  Y.  7  7 

Thou  King  of  kings,  thou  mighty  Lord  of  lords  ! 
Forever  and  forever  Thou  shalt  reign  !  " 
And  listening  thus,  we  looked  again,  and  lo ! 
A  little  Child  led  all  the  wondrous  host ! 

Then  went  we  forth  into  the  shining  day 
From  Rome's  old  palace  of  the  Ouirinal. 
And  still  in  memory's  picture  of  that  hour, 
We  see  but  Bethlehem's  Child,  and  hear  again 
"  The  Hallelujah  Chorus,"  where  He  leads 
The  whole  grand  saintly  host  of  His  redeemed. 


REWARD. 

ALL  joyously  down  through  the  golden 
field 
The  reapers  had  come  with  a  shout ; 
They  had  cheered  each  other  with  word  and 
song, 
As  their  sickles  flashed  in  and  out. 

And  tenderly  now  fell  the  day  asleep, 

As  they  heard  the  Master  call 
Through  the  starlit  silence,  "  Enter  ye  in, 

My  reward  is  waiting  for  all." 

The  palace  shone  out  on  the  happy  night 

With  its  windows  all  aflame, 
Its  radiant  portals  swinging  wide, 

With  welcome  for  all  who  came. 

With  bannered  sheaves,  with  the  trumpet's 
voice, 
With  the  marching  of  eager  feet, 
The  train  swept  in  through  the  golden  gates, 
And  up  to  the  royal  seat. 
(78) 


RE  WARD.  79 

But  lo,  far  off  in  the  harvest-field, 

Weary  and  sad  and  so  late, 
With  a  single  sheaf,  there  lingered  one 

Still  striving  to  reach  the  gate. 

He  had  caught  the  echo  of  that  sweet  call 
That  fell  through  the  holy  night ; 

He  had  seen  the  throng  from  the  darkened 
field, 
Sweep  into  the  palace-light. 

And  a  cry  went  up  from  his  sorrowful  soul, 
"  O  Master,  tarry  for  me  ; 
Oh,  shut  not  the   gates  whence   the  glory 
streams, 
My  weary  heart  breaketh  for  thee." 

At  last  to  the  banqueting  hall  he  came, 

So  ragged,  and  old,  and  worn, 
His  only  treasure,  the  one  bright  sheaf, 

On  his  poor,  bent  shoulders  borne. 

Then  the  face  of  the  King  was  tender  and 
grave, 


80  REWARD. 

As  of  one  who  was  hiding  a  tear, 
As  he  gently  questioned,  "What  wouldest 
thou, 
And  what  dost  thou  bring  me  here  ?  " 

Most    eager  and    loving  the  answer    that 

came — 
"  I  had  gone  with  the  reapers  at  morn, 
With  longing  to  bring  thee  such  glorious 
sheaves 
As  might  even  thy  palace  adorn. 

"But  scarcely  one  hour  I  wrought  with  the 
rest, 
Ere  I  fell  by  the  wayside  alone ; 
With  a  fevered  brow  and  a  pain -racked 
frame 
I  lay  till  the  morning  was  done. 

"Sweet  children    passed  with    their    sickles 
small — 
They  would  reap  for  the  King,  they  said — 
I    showed  them  whither  the  reapers  had 
gone, 
And  blessed  them  as  on  they  sped. 


REWARD.  8 1 

"  But  when  in  the  noontide's  sultry  hour 

The  fever  and  pain  were  done, 
The  rust,  alas,  my  sickle  had  spoiled, 
And  the  strength  of  my  youth  was  gone. 

"  Far  off  I  could  see  the  victorious  ones 
With  the  flash  of  their  blades  so  keen  ; 
But  no  words  could  reach  them,  and  there 
alone, 
I  knew  I  could  only  glean. 

"  The  few  bright  stalks  they  had  left  in  their 
haste, 
I  gathered  in  weakness  for  thee ; 
And  this  poor,  bare  entrance  within   thy 
gates 
Is  all  that  is  left  for  me." 

Then  the  King  rose  up  from   his  throned 
seat, 
With  a  face  most  sweet  to  see ; 
r  They  also  serve,  who  suffer,"  he  said, 
"  Their  reward  is  still  with  me. 


82  REWARD. 

"  Thy  sheaf  may  be  small,  but  thy  love  was 
great — 
I  crown  thee  victor  with  this." 
And  lo,  in  the  silence,  bending,  he  pressed 
On  that  brow  his  signet  kiss. 

And  the  sorrowful  gleaner  stood  a  prince, 

Transformed  by  that  wondrous  sign  ; 
While  a  shout  rang  down  through  the  palace 

hall, 
"  O  Love,  the  guerdon  is  thine  !  " 


LIFE— A  PROBLEM. 

A  LITTLE  smiling,  mingled  oft  with  tears, 
A  little  hoping,  linked  with  many  fears, 
A  little  trusting,  chased  by  doubt  and  diead, 
A  little  light,  unto  much  darkness  wed — 
This  call  we  Life — to  breathe,  to  love,  to  die  ! 
Who  shall  for  us  unfold  the  great,  sad  mystery? 

Heaven's  radiance    makes   rainbows  through 

the  tears, 
Humility's  sweet  flower  upspringeth  from  the 

fears, 
The  holy  shield  of  Faith  tempers  in  fires  of 

grief, 
The  seed  in  weeping  sown,  returns  a  golden 

sheaf — 
0  glorious  Life  in  Death !  no  more,  no  more 

to  die ! 
One  hath  dissolved  for  us    the  deep,  sweet 

mystery  ! 

(83) 


ALONE. 

ALONE  in  the  room  ! 
Oh,  darkest  mystery, 
Eaith's  bitter  history, 
Reads  like  a  doom. 

Alone  in  the  room  ! 
Missing  the  loving  grace, 
Wanting  the  precious  face 

Lost  in  the  gloom. 

Alone  in  the  room  ! 

Drinking  death's  bitterness ; 

Cries  of  our  sore  distress 
Piercing  the  tomb. 

Alone  in  the  room  ! 

Oh,  when  will  night  be  done  ? 

Oh,  Darling,  Darling,  come 
Back  to  the  room. 

(84) 


ALONE.  85 

Alone  in  the  room  ? 

Oh,  sweetest  mystery ! 

Earth's  hidden  history, 
Christ's  in  the  room. 

Alone  in  the  room  ? 

Cannot  His  perfect  grace, 

His  tender  pitying  face, 
Lighten  the  gloom  ? 

Oh,  He's  in  the  room  ! 

Death's  bitter  pang  is  past ; 

Victors  we  are  at  last, 
Rending  the  tomb. 

Alone  nevermore ! 

Morning  comes  soon  or  late ; 

Oh,  Darling,  Darling,  wait 
Close  by  the  shore. 


-  THINE  EYES  SHALL  SEE  THE  KING 
IN   HIS  BEAUTY." 

O  SWEET,  prophetic  words !  still  ringing 
clear, 
Through  all  the  centuries  from  that  elder  year, 
Wherever  waiting  hearts  are  hushed  to  hear  ! 


Thine  eyes  shall  see  the  King !     O  wondrous 

sight ! 
Thy  weary  eyes,  astrain  through  all  the  night, 
Watching    for  faintest    gleam   of   longed-for 

light ! 

Thy  sad  eyes,  memory-touched  with  "all  re- 
gret ; " 

Thy  dim  eyes,  aching  still  with  "  life's  small 
fret," 

Seeing  as  through  a  glass,  most  darkly  yet ! 
(86) 


"  THE  KING  IN  HIS  BE  A  UTYJ'       8  7 

Thy  blind  eyes,  seeing  even  not  at  all, 
Yet  opening  quickly  at  the  Master's  call ; 
Glad,  eager  eyes,  from  which  all  weights  shall 
fall. 

O  wondrous  hour  of  vision  !  Long  ago 
Hath  rapt  Isaiah  come  thy  joy  to  know  ; 
That  heavenly  beauty  which  he  strove  to  show. 

Arohangels  veil  their  faces,  while  they  sing, 
Before  the  awful  splendor  of  their  King, 
Afraid  to  sweep  such  height  with  ev'n  angelic 
wing. 

They  long  to  know  that  mystery  of  grace, 
Whereby  the  ransomed  see  Him  face  to  face, 
Nor  fall,  nor  fear  to  fall,  from  that  high  place. 

They  know  not,  even  they,  that  tend  crest  tie, 
By  which  He  brings  His  chosen  ones  so  nigh — 
His  cross,  His  blood,  and  Calvary's  bitter  cry. 

Oh,  saddest,  sweetest  bond  !     And  can  it  be 
That  through  His  sorrow,  joy  shall  come  tc 

me? 
That  thus  His  glorious  beauty  I  shall  see  ? 


88        "  THE  KING  IN  HIS  BE  A  UTY.n 

Oh,  Joy,  too  deep  for  aught  but  happy  tears ! 
Oh,  Faith,  that  climbs  a   height  beyond  all 

fears  ? 
Oh,  Hope,  that  crowns  and  gladdens  all  my 

years ! 

My  heart  repeats  the  promise  o'er  and  o'er, 
Though  'tis  an  "  old,  old  story  "  heard  before, 
Yet  with  each  dear  repeating  loved  the  more. 

O  eyes,  for  which  such  vision  is  in  store, 
Keep  ye  to  all  things  pure,  forevermore, 
Till  ye  shall  close  beside  Death's  shadowed 
door. 

Be  lighted  from  within,  by  unseen  Guest, 
Send  out  warm  rays  of  love  to  all  distrest, 
And  lure  them  by  your  shining  into  rest. 

So,  in  His  beauty,  shall  ye  see  the  King, 
And  to  His  eyes'  sweet  answer  steadfast  cling, 
Nor  fade,  nor  droop,   o'ershadowed  by  Hia 
wing. 


TWO  ANGELS. 

WHEN  in  dark  before  the  dawning, 
Night  was  on  the  wane, 
In  the  shadow  and  the  silence, 

Came  the  angel,  Pain. 
Close  behind  him,  walked  another, 

Pale,  with  bated  breath ; 
By  the  golden  key  he  carried, 
Angel  he,  of  Death. 

Then  spake  Pain  :  "  I  bring  this  token, 

Sharp  as  any  sword ; 
It  will  crush  thy  life's  frail  chalice, 

But  'tis  from  thy  Lord." 
Only  smiles,  Pain  got  for  answer, 

And  this  ringing  word — 
"  Tokens  sharp  as  swords,  are  welcome, 

Coming  from  my  Lord  !  " 

Then  spake  Death  :  "  Pain  bears  the  token, 
I,  the  message  bring ; 

(89) 


9o  TWO  ANGELS. 

Life  thou  livest  now  no  longer, 
Thus  hath  said  thy  King." 
"  Nay,  dear  angel,"  came  the  answer, 
"  If  I  go  with  thee, 

Life  of  life  shall  open  to  me, 
By  thy  golden  key." 

Through  the  shadow  and  the  silence, 

Passed  both  Pain  and  Death  ; 
Grand  and  tender  was  the  baptism 

Of  their  solemn  breath  ! 
Then  One  stood  within  the  chamber, 

Neither  Death  nor  Pain  ! 
Only  wide  and  wondrous  glory, 

Crowned  what  they  had  slain  ! 


AT  SCHOOL. 

LIKE  children  at  a  common  desk  and  task, 
We  sit  in  God's  great  school,  and  if  or  ill, 
Or  well,  we  learn,  each  chooses  for  himself. 
God  gives  the  varied  text-books,  great  and  small, 
But  how  to  use  them,  or  to  use  at  all, 
Each  chooses,  in  the  changing  discipline  of  life. 
Some  lessons  all  must  learn,  who  even  once 
Shall  enter  in,  but  God  reserves  the  truths 
Most  grand  and  deep,  for  His  most  diligent 
And  earnest  ones — the  faithful  students 
Of  His  open  books.    But  those  who  careless  sit, 
And  idly  toy  with  simplest  rules  and  tasks, 
Nor  wish  to  look  beyond,  shall  never  learn 
The  spirit's  high  astronomies,  the  great 
Soul-chemistries,  and  grand  arithmetic 
Of  God.     For  these  are  secrets  of  the  Lord, 
And  only  Faith,  alight  with  earnest  Zeal, 
Shall  make  discoveries  in  those  far  heavens, 

(91) 


92  AT  SCHOOL. 

Or  know  from  wavering  orbit,  some  great  star 
Of  truth  still  lies  outside  his  lesson's  sweep, 
But  waiting  there,  more  patient,  loving  search, 
To  shine  unveiled,  far  up  the  starry  heights. 

And  only  Works,  with  truest  Faith  informed, 
Shall  know  the  mystic  symbols  of  those  things 
Which  in  God's  crucible  combine  to  change, 
Create,  or  turn  to  forms  invisible, 
Before  appears  the  flawless  crystal,  He 
Would  make  of  every  true  and  loving  life. 
And  only  that  far-reaching  thought,  which 

gains 
Broad  view  of  Time  and  of  Eternity, 
Can  even  feebly  grasp  the  lengthening  line 
Of  God's  great  plummet,  through  the  sounding 

deeps 
Of  His  vast  measurements  ! 

What  must  it  be 
To  gather  thus  the  secrets  of  the  Lord  ? 
And  oh  !  what  matters  it  to  him  whose  soul 
Is  hungering  and  athirst  for  truth,  that  he 
Full  oft  must  follow  it  through  flood  and  flame  ? 
Nay,  rather  flood  and  flame  shall  be  for  him 
God's  telescope,  revealing  to  his  sight 


AT  SCHOOL.  93 

The  wonders  of  the  spiritual  sky. 

Nay,  rather  still,  who  would  not  choose  both 

flood 
And  flame,  if  it  were  only  so  that  he 
Could  reach  the  light  ineffable,  where  hides 
The  perfect  face  of  Him  who  is  The  Truth  ? 


ON   THE   BRTDGE. 

OVER  the  river  an  arching  bridge  : 
Over  the  bridge,  the  rush 
Of  hundreds  of  feet,  from  the  morning's  glow 
To  the  evening's  latest  flush. 

Going  and  coming  day  by  day, 
Walked  one  with  anxious  heart ; 

"  Alas  !  "  he  said,  "  for  the  years  sweep  by, 
And  I  find  no  heavenly  art 

"  By  which  to  bridge  the  stream  of  death 

From  this  to  the  happy  shore  : 
No  man  can  I  find  with  a  builder's  skill, 

No  name  with  the  needful  lore." 

Over  the  river  he  came  one  day, 

Longing  and  sorrowful  still, 
And  there,  midway  on  the  sunny  arch, 

Holding  a  crowd  at  his  will, 
(94) 


ON   THE   BRIDGE.  95 

A  poor  blind  reader  sat  with  his  book, 

Fingering  slowly  the  page, 
And  like  soft,  sweet  music,  forth  from  his  touch 

Came  the  words  of  a  buried  age  : 

"  Neither  is  there  salvation,"  he  read, 

"  In  another  name  than  His — 
For  there's  none  other  name  " — and  he  paused 
to  turn 

The  leaf  as  he  uttered  this. 

While  his  trembling  fingers  sought  the  place 

On  the  topmost  line  again, 
Like  a  child  at  school  he  clung  to  the  words 

Just  read,  in  a  sweet  refrain  : 

"  For  there's    none   other    name  " — "  there's 
none  other  name  " — 

"  None  other  name  " — thus  it  fell 
On  the  ear  of  him  with  the  sorrowful  heart, 

Like  the  chime  of  a  far-off  bell. 

And  on  through  the  hours  it  followed  him  still ; 
At  eve,  through  the  silent  air, 


96  ON   THE  BRIDGE. 

"  There's  none  other  name  " — "  Oh,  none  other 
name," 
Rung  low  like  a  vesper  prayer. 

When  the  morning  dawned,  like  a  matin-bell 

Upon  his  wakening  ear, 
"  There's  none  other  name  " — "  Oh,  none  other 
name," 

Again  rang  soft  and  clear. 

He  has  found  the  Name  with  the  needful  lore, 

The  Man  with  the  builder's  skill ; 
His  bridge  is  built  to  the  happy  shore, 
The  river  beneath  may  rage  and  roar, 
He  shall  cross  when  the  Builder  will. 


"PEACE." 

OVER  the  drifting  snows, 
In  through  the  bitter  storm, 
A  soft,  low  wind  of  the  woodland  blows, 
With  the  breath  of  the  summer,  warm. 

Only  some  fairy  ferns 

On  a  crimson  banner  set ; 
Only  the  thought  of  a  heart  that  turns 

From  the  warfare  it  fain  would  forget. 

"  Peace  " — spell  the  tiny  ieaves, 
With  wave  and  ripple  and  curve  ; 

And  a  summer  blessing  my  heart  receives 
From  Him  whom  His  summers  serve. 

For  I  think  how  the  low  life-growths, 
In  the  shade  of  sorrowful  years, 

Shall  spell  at  last,  'neath  the  Father's  hand, 
The  "  Peace  "  that  is  offspring  of  tears. 

(97) 


98  "PEACE." 

Peace  for  thy  "  Peace,"  dear  heart ; 

Thy  summer  blossoms  afar, 
And  the  tender  green  of  its  precious  bloom 
.  No  frosts  of  thy  winter  can  mar. 

Love  will  write  "  Peace  "  for  thee  yet, 

Each  letter  interpreting,  when, 
On  the  love-red  ground  of  His  Passion  'tis  set, 

With  seal  of  God's  changeless  Amen  ! 


ENTERED   INTO   REST. 
F.   L.   G. 

SLOWLY,  slowly,  mute  and  tearless, 
Through  the  shaded  valley's  gloom, 
Step  by  step  we  followed  fearless, 
In  the  dim,  death-silent  room. 

Oh,  to  cross  with  hzm,  the  river, 
Shrunk  to  such  a  shallow  tide — 

Surely,  struggling,  praying,  clinging, 
We  might  pass  it  side  by  side  ; 

Side  by  side,  the  City  enter, 

Side  by  side  our  darlings  meet ; 

Stand  before  our  Christ  together 
On  the  City's  golden  street. 

But  behold,  the  shadows  deepen  ; 

Deepens,  too,  the  rolling  tide  ; 
Looser  fall  the  clasping  fingers, 

Farther  shines  the  other  side. 

(99) 


ioo         ENTERED  INTO  REST. 

Each  alone  /    Ah,  voiceless,  breathless, 

Seems  the  soul  already  past ; 
Will  no  word  again  o'ertake  it, 

Pierce  it,  fix  it,  once  at  last  ? 

Then,  "  The  Lord— the  Lord's  my  Shepherd, 
Flung  at  venture,  o'er  the  wave, 

Caught  and  held  the  fleeting  spirit, 
As  on  pinion  strong  to  save. 

Through  the  mist  came  backward  floating 
Glad  and  strong  and  full  of  cheer, 
"  I'll  not  want — not  want  forever — 
In  the  valley  there's  no  fear." 

Closed  the  mist  again  about  him, 
Soft,  slow  wash  of  waves  we  heard, 

Onward  went  the  fleeting  spirit 
With  this  last,  this  happy  word. 

Instant  to  my  raptured  vision, 

Passed  the  wave — the  silence  o'er  ! 

Oh,  the  host  beloved  and  sainted, 
Gathered  on  that  other  shore  ! 


ENTERED  INTO  REST.  ioi 

Oh,  the  gladness  and  the  glory ! 

Oh,  the  rapturous  embrace, 
Finding  in  the  radiant  City, 

Each  remembered,  longed-for  face  ! 

Oh,  the  grace  he  falleth  heir  to, 
There  beside  the  Father's  Throne  ! 

Only  this,  my  soul  can  utter — 
Joy  for  thee,  my  Own,  my  Own  ! 

Only  mine,  the  lonely  longing  ! 

Thine,  fulfillment — thine,  release  ; 
Only  mine,  the  patient  waiting, 

Thou  hast  entered  into  peace  ! 


A   NEW  COMMANDMENT. 

JOY  and  I  awhile  were  strangers, 
Life  seemed  full  of  pains  and  dangers, 
When  at  Prayer's  all-hallowed  altar, 
Dropped  as  from  some  heavenly  Psalter, 
Into  my  heart  this  wonderful  word — 
"  Enter  thou  into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord  !  " 

Stood  my  soul  almost  affrighted, 
Now  bewildered,  now  delighted. 
Were  then  pains  and  dangers  ended  ? 
Was  my  soul  to  God  ascended  ? 

Else  how  heard  I  that  judgment  word, 
"  Enter  thou  into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord  "  ? 

Spirit  answered  unto  spirit, 
Child,  ev'n  now  thou  dost  inherit 
Peace  and  joy,  and  grace  and  glory  ! 
Thus  grows  large,  salvation's  story  ; 

Hence  the  commanding,  life-giving  word, 
'Enter  thou  into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord  ! '  " 
(102) 


A    NEW  COMMANDMENT.        103 

Joy  and  I  no  more  are  strangers  ; 
Life  still  bears  its  pains  and  dangers, 
But  my  heart,  as  it  is  bidden, 
Finds  the  deeper  meaning  hidden 

In  this  quickening,  wonderful  word, 
"  Enter  thou  into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord." 


THE  OLD   GRAVEYARD. 

EAST   HAMPTON,    LONG   ISLAND. 

'FT! IS  a  quaint  little  sea-girt  village, 
-*-      And  in  midst  of  its  grassy  street, 

At  either  end  in  the  road's  slight  bend, 
The  dead  and  the  living  meet. 

There  slowly  we  wandered  at  sunset, 
The  long-  gone  days  to  repeat. 

Then  over  the  low  stile  climbing, 

The  dead  lay  close  at  our  feet, 
And  it   seemed  not  strange   there  was  little 
change 

From  the  quiet  village  street : 
For  the  past  was  but  part  of  the  present, 

As  a  flower  in  its  fragrance  complete. 

Two  hundred  years  seemed  vanished, 
Dim  yesterdays  were  now, 
(104) 


THE   OLD    GRAVEYARD.         105 

And   the   first  low   mound    in   the   hallowed 
ground 

Lay  fresh  in  the  April  snow ; 
And  we  fancied  we  heard  in  that  ancient  rnorn. 

The  bell's  great  heart  throb  low. 

For  their  aged  and  faithful  shepherd 

The  flock  wept  sore  that  day ; 
'Twas  a  humble  name,  unknown  to  fame, 

Remote  from  the  world's  highway  ; 
But  a  "  pasture  "  he  had  been  to  his  sheep, 

So  the  stone's  old  records  say. 

And  the  Lord  of  the  pastures  knew  him — 

Ah !  record  so  brief,  so  great ! 
What  crown  or  sword  like  this  potent  word 

When  we  come  to  the  upper  Gate, 
Through  which,  long  since,  this  saint  passed  on 

To  his  heirship  and  estate  ? 

Two  hundred  years  !     Swift  moving 
Through  gates  of  birth  and  death, 

The  shadowy  host  long  since  have  crost 
The  world  of  mortal  breath  ; 


I06  THE   OLD   GRAVEYARD. 

Nor  joy  nor  grief  can  once  disturb 
The  dust  that  slumbereth. 

At  each  low  grassy  billow 

The  moss-grown  headstone  shows 

How  young,  how  old,  the  name  that  is  told, 
And  the  rest  the  Father  knows  ; 

For  us  it  is  shut  'neath  the  Summer  sod 
And  a  hundred  Winters'  snows. 

What  then  was  the  thought,  we  wondered, 

Of  the  quiet  old  dwellers  here, 
Who  thus  'mid  the  strife  of  their  daily  life 

Set  death  to  interfere, 
And  bounded  the  beaten  pathway 

With  the  places  so  sad,  so  dear  ? 

Simple  and  reverent  and  thoughtful, 
Their  earth  and  their  heaven  met, 

And  that  life  on  earth  had  eternal  worth 
They  never  had  questioned  yet : 

For  their  faith  each  word  accepted 
Where  the  Father's  seal  was  set. 

And  they  would  that  going  or  coming 
In  their  quiet  life  by  the  sea, 


THE   OLD   GRAVEYARD.  107 

Their  commonest  thought  might  be  ever  in- 
wrought 

With  sense  of  eternity, 
That  so  when  the  Master  should  summon 

No  haste  and  no  terror  should  be  ; 

Or  mayhap  'twas  a  word  familiar, 

Awaking  nor  sigh  nor  fear, 
And  life  went  out  with  a  grave,  sweet  thought, 

Like  the  going  out  of  the  year, 
And  they  wanted  the  whole  dear  household, 

Awake  or  asleep,  to  be  near  ; 

Or  that  haply  dear  eyes  of  a  baby, 

If  folded  away  in  the  night, 
Might  softly  rest  without  pain  or  quest, 

With  the  Father's  door  in  sight, 
To  wake  in  the  last  long  morning 

With  nothing  of  change  to  affright. 

So  musing  and  wandering,  the  twilight 

Fell  softly  down  like  a  veil, 
And  the  shadows  crept  where  but  shadows 
slept, 

And  the  winds  made  gentle  wail 


108  THE   OLD   GRAVEYARD. 

Ti'l  they  seemed  like  the  long-hushed  voices 
Telling  the  old  life-tale. 

Then  back  o'er  the  low  stile  climbing, 
Back  through  the  village  street, 

With  tender  face,  "  Oh,  dear  grave-place," 
We  said,  "  how  near,  how  sweet ! 

In  the  Life  and  the  Resurrection 
Your  sleepers  and  we  shall  meet/ 


FULFILMENT. 

IT  was  only  last  night  that  you  went  away, 
And  to-day,  how  grand,  how  strange 
To  you,  with  your  sad,  pathetic  life, 
Is  this  sudden,  silent  change. 

Ah,  could  you  tell  me  just  what  it  is  like — 

This  life  you  are  living  now  ! 
Are  all  your  grand  ideals  complete, 

With  the  victory-crown  on  your  brow  ? 

Has  the  old  earth-conflict  ceased  within  ? 

Are  the  surging  waters  stilled, 
Where  your  soul  tossed  yearningly  back  and 
forth, 

With  its  longings  unfulfilled  ? 

I  remember  you  wished  for  a  wonderful  voice, 

To  utter  your  song  like  a  bird's  ; 

(109) 


no  FULFILMENT. 

I  remember  you  longed,  with  a  poet's  heart, 
For  a  poet's  cadenced  words. 

And  with   artist-instinct,  you  gazed  through 
tears 

That  were  born  of  despair  and  desire, 
At  the  world-famed  miracles,  color-wrought 

Of  the  artist's  opaline  fire. 

Alas  !  nor  picture,  nor  poem,  nor  song 
Was  born  of  your  longing  and  tears, 

Yet  bravely  and  sweetly,  for  God  and  the  right, 
You  faithfully  stood  through  the  years. 

And  only  last  night,  came  the  heavenly  call, 
And  to-day  how  grand,  how  strange, 

At  the  end  of  your  sad,  pathetic  life, 
Must  be  this  marvellous  change. 

For  to-day  your  song  is  immortally  tuned, 
But  its  glory  is  born  of  your  strife  ; 

And  your  poem,  is  poem  and  picture  in  one — 
The  story,  the  grace  of  your  life  ! 


ON   THE   SEA. 

OUR  night  is  dark,  the  billows  high, 
We  toil  in  rowing,  death  is  nigh, 
When  o'er  our  storm-tossed  Galilee 
Comes  Jesus  walking  on  the  sea. 

Then  in  our  hearts  of  little  faith, 
A  new  affright  hath  sudden  breath  ; 
We  cry,  "  It  must  a  spirit  be," 
And  know  not  Jesus  on  the  sea. 

Then  falls  the  tender,  chiding  voice, 
'Tis  I — 'tis  I — oh,  heart,  rejoice." 
Whereat,  grown  bold,  we  pray  to  be 
Called  unto  Jesus  o'er  the  sea. 

But  bidden  come,  behold  our  fear 

Again  o'ercomes  ;  with  danger  near, 

We  cry,  '*  I  sink  !  oh,  save  Thou  me  !  " 

Then  clasped  by  Him  we  walk  the  sea. 

(in) 


H2  ON   THE   SEA. 

He  comes  with  us  into  the  ship  ; 
The  winds  into  His  leashes  slip  ; 
Calm  grows  our  storm-tossed  Galilee 
Since  He  hath  walked  upon  the  sea. 

Then  waves  and  fears  and  struggles  o'er, 
No  toil  to  bring  our  boat  to  shore, 
Where,  in  Gennesaret  may  be, 
Men  hear  of  Him  who  walked  the  sea. 

They  call  to  Him  through  waves  of  woe, 
With  trouble,  sickness,  sin,  they  go. 
They  cry,  "  I  perish — save  Thou  me  "; 
He  straight  treads  down  their  whelming  sea. 

Thenceforth  we  follow  where  He  leads, 
With  Him  seek  out  all  human  needs  ; 
For,  members  of  His  body,  we 
Must  walk  with  Him  on  every  sea. 

With  Him  tread  waves  of  sin  and  woe, 
With  Him  lay  surging  hatreds  low  ; 
Thus  conquering  each  wild  Galilee, 
We  walk  with  Jesus  on  the  sea. 


AT  THE   GATE. 

THE  Gates  stood  open  one  solemn  night, 
And  a  Soul  looked  so  far  within 
That  it  gladly  and  earnestly  said  to  itself, 
"  Now  surely  I've  done  with  sin. 

'  I've  done  with  the  earthly  toil  and  pain, 

I  may  take  the  Angel's  hand, 
For  none  could  have  such  visions  as  these 
Save  they  who  enter  The  Land." 

But  one  came  forth  from  the  burning  throne, 

Where  angel  and  seraph  wait, 
And,  alas  !  the  vision  faded  away 

As  he  slowly  shut  the  Gate. 

Then  the  Soul  sank  down  in  a  tide  of  grief, 
Turned  back  from  the  very  door, 

Still  barred  from  the  glowing  golden  street 
Where  it  thought  to  sin  no  more. 


114  AT   THE   GATE. 

"  So  weary  !  so  weary  !  Oh,  dearest  Lord," 

Was  its  sad,  regretful  cry, 
"  I  cannot  turn  back  to  the  battle  again 

When  the  victory  seemed  so  nigh. 

11  I  am   faint  ana1    spent  with  the  wrestler's 
strife, 
I  lie  as  among  the  slain  ; 
Oh,  give  back  the  vision  and  make  it  real, 
And  open  the  heavens  again  !  " 

What  gleameth  there  to  the  yearning  gaze  ? 

What  form  is  that  at  the  Gate, 
With  the  human  strain  in  the  voice  divine, 

So  tenderly  whispering,  "  Wait !  " 

"  Dear,  tired  Soul,  for  the  Master's  sake 
Turn  back  to  the  battle  once  more  ; 
Thou  hast  faithfully  wrought,  and  thy  crown 
is  won, 
But  the  conflict  is  raging  sore  ; 

"  And  the  need  is  great  of  each  keen-edged 
sword, 
Of  each  royal  red-cross  knight, 


AT.    THE   GATE.  115 

Of  every  struggle,  the  wide  world  o'er, 
That  the  King  may  have  his  right. 

1  Wilt  thou  wait  then  awhile  thy  coveted-  rest, 

Wilt  thou  keep  to  thy  loyal  league  ? 
So  many  trophies  are  thine  to  win, 
Though  in  danger  and  in  fatigue. 

1  Win  other  stars  for  thy  lustrous  crown — 

It  were  worth  all  toil  and  pain  ; 
There  is  other  labor  for  other  worlds, 
But  never  a  soul  to  gain. 

' '  Souls  !  souls  for  the  kingdom  ! '  the  battle- 
cry 

Be  this  through  the  hottest  strife ; 
Thou  wilt  not  grieye  for  thy  transient  loss, 

With  such  gain  and  glory  of  life." 

Then  up  sprang  the  Soul  from  the  shining 
door, 

And  forgetting  its  loss  and  pain, 
Went  joyfully  forth  with  the  Lord  it  loved, 

And  it  fought  with  might  and  main. 


n6  AT    THE   GATE. 

By  His  side  in  the  night,  in  the  thickest  fray, 
With  a  vigor  most  new  and  glad, 

Went  the  happy  Soul  without  doubt  or  fear, 
In  the  heavenly  armor  clad. 

And  behold  since  that  solemn,  shining  night 
The  Gates  have  been  ever  "  ajar," 

And  the  eager  Soul  looks  in  when  it  will, 
Though  its  entrance  be  near  or  far. 


"CASTING  ALL  YOUR  CARE  UPON 
HIM." 

ALL  care,  dear  Lord  ?     Is  this  Thy  gra- 
cious word 
To  me,  so  full  of  great  and  little  cares 
In  heart  and  life  ?     I  scarce  such  word  can 

grasp, 
Or  think  it  meant  for  me,  who  am  so  pressed, 
So  wearied  'mid  the  hurrying  throng  ;  so  sad 
Of  soul  because  this  one  I  loved  has  gone 
From  voice  and  touch  of  mine  forevermore  ; 
So  filled  with  fear  lest  manna  of  to-day 
Last  not  till  morning  light  ;  so  sorrowful 
Because  an  unkind  word,  a  chilling  look, 
A  change  in  one  who  loved,  falls  o'er  my  path 
Like  shadow  dense  and  drear  ;  so  overwhelmed 
With  sore  distress  because  harsh  tongues  of 

hate 
Have  tampered  with  my  clean  white  name  and 

flung 

(ii7) 


1 1 8     "  CASTING  CARE  UPON  H/M." 

Suspicion  o'er  my  pure  intent,  and  stained 
With  strife  and  falsehood  e'en  my  deeds  of  love  ; 
So  bowed  with  grief,  because  I  have  not  kept 
Thy  name  above  dishonor  or  reproach, 
Though  truly  loving  Thee,  as  Peter  loved  ; 
Because  my  careless  tongue  hath  uttered  words 
That  hurt  another  heart,  or  my  cold  look 
Hath  fallen  chill  on  one  who  longed  for  love 
And  Christly  help  ;  because  my  wayward  feet 
Have  walked  where  Thou  couldst  not  beside 

me  walk, 
And  my  weak,  faithless  heart  so  often  seeks 
Its  treasure  'mid   the   things  that  please  not 

Thee; 
And  care  above  all  cares  that  makes  my  heart 
So  heavy-laden  in  the  world's  great  work, 
Because  so  little  fruit  perfection  finds, 
Because  Thy  white,  white  banner  trails  in  dust, 
And  enemies  to  Thee,  with  tongue  and  pen 
And  sword,  press   hotly  on,  and  fain  would 

sweep 
Our  Christ  from  off  His  throne,  and  all  the  gates 
Of  sin  and  wrath  seem  opened  wide  to  pour  . 
Along  the  very  channels  of  Thy  love 


''CASTING  CARE  UPON  HIM."     119 

And  grace  their  poison  of  destructive  rage, 
While  through  the  earth,  so  few,  so  faint,  so 

cold, 
Thine  own  redeemed  so  feebly  stem  the  tide  ; 
Or  here,  perchance,  with  burning  zeal, 
With  torch  aflame  and  heart  aglow,  they  lead 
Some  ardent  hope,  to  fall  beside  the  way 
With  promise  unfulfilled,  and  all  the  field 
Strewn  thick  with  losses  to  Thy  holy  cause, 
Till  heart  doth  fail,  and  quivering  flesh  doth 

faint, 
And  cry,  "  How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long  dost 

Thou 
Avenge  not  Thine  elect,  or  bring  to  pass 
Thy  promise,  waiting  since  creation's  dawn  !  " 
All  these,  my  cares,  dear  Lord,  and  countless 

more, 
Dost  Thou  thus  tenderly  allure  Thy  child 
To  cast  on  Thee  ?     Ah,  sacred  Heart,  I  know 
Thou  bledst  o'er  all  earth's  wroe  and  sin  and 

death, 
But  my  poor  little  griefs,  my  one  weak  heart- 
Dost  Thou  indeed  lean  from  Thy  heaven's  far 

height 


120     "  CASTING  CARE  UPON  I//M." 

'Mid  all  the  homage  of  those  countless  throngs 
Who  praise  Thee  evermore,  to  catch  and  bear 
The  weight  of  such  poor,  foolish  things  as  these 
I  bring  to  Thee  ? 

Yet  list,  my  soul,  the  words 
That  fall  so  soft,  so  sweet,  like  blessed  balm, 
From  those  most  holy  lips,  "  Much  more  " — 

"  much  more." 
What   is  it   that   He  saith,  "  Much   more "  ? 

Oh,  list ! 
"  Consider  thou  the  lilies  how  they  grow, 
The  tender  grass  that  withers  in  an  hour, 
The  happy  birds  that  fly  thro'  heaven's  soft 

blue ; 
Do  I  not  clothe  and  feed  and  care  for  all, 
And  are  not  ye  much  better,  ye,  my  own, 
Than  these,  and  shall  I  not  much  more,  much 

more 
Thus  feed  and  care  for  you,  my  faithless  one  ? 
Yes,  every  care,  the  least,  the  lowliest,  cast 
On  me.     Bring  unto  me  those  blinding  tears 
That  fall  because  thy  flower's  garden-place 
On  earth  is  vacant,  tho'  in  Heaven  filled, 
And  I  will  so  transform  them  into  pearls 


"CASTING  CARE  UPON  HIM."     12i 

That  thou  shalt  wear  thy  grief  as  diadem 
Upon  thy  brow.    Bring,  too,  to  me,  that  thought 
So  anxious  for  the  morrow's  bread,  and  know 
That  manna  of  to-day  shall  only  fail 
When  manna  of  to-morrow  falls  from  heaven. 
Give,  too,  to  me,  that  chilling  word,  and  look 
Unkind,  and  changing  love  that  break  thy  heart, 
And  thou  shalt  see  the  beauty  of  thy  King, 
Thy  Father's  smile  in   place  of  these.     And 

bring 
That  fear  of  evil  tongues,  and  I  will  hide 
In  my  pavilion  safe  and  deep  from  strife 
Of  tongues,  my  blood-bought  child.     And  all 

the  sins 
That  separate  'twixt  thee  and  me  ;  that  love 
Divided  oft,  that  wandering  heart,  those  feet 
That  stray  in  devious  paths  ;  those  hands  that 

strive 
To  draw  from  broken  cisterns  for  thy  thirst ; 
Those  lips,  that  oft  against  the  Crucified 
Bear  heavy  witness,  bring  them  where  my  blood 
May  on  them  fall,  and  leave  no  stain  behind. 
And  for  thy  work,  oh,  foolish,  faithless  child, 
Is  not  thy  work  the  work  for  which  I  died, 


122     "CAS  TING  CARE  UPON  HIM." 

And  canst  thou  think  I  love  it  less  than  thou ) 
If  sin  and  wrath  pour  all  their  tides  abroad, 
Shall  not  they  praise  me  ?     Can  I  not  restrain  ? 
Shall  not  the  victory  therefore  brighter  shine  ? 
If  flaming  torches  that  would  light  the  way 
Expire  ere  day  hath  dawned,  /  still  am  Light. 
If  ardent  souls  are  slain  abreast  the  fray, 
The  martyr's  blood  is  still  the  Church's  seed. 
If  like  a  flood  the  enemy  break  forth 
With   breach   on   breach,   the    Spirit  of   the 

Lord 
Shall  lift  His  standard  where  they  rage,  and 

sword 
Shall  answer  sword  where'er  they  flash  thro'  all 
My  mountains  strong,  and  my  eternal  word 
Shall  shrivel  up  their  puny  speech  like  straw 
In   fiercest  flame.     Still,   still,   my  trembling 

child, 
I  lead  thee  on  to  conquest  grand,  complete ! 
Oh,  hast  thou  still  one  care,  one  fear,  one  doubt, 
Thou  hast  not  breathed  into  my  waiting  ear  ? 
Fear  not,  my  little  one,  my  chosen  child  : 
Thy  Father's  promise  'tis  to  give  to  thee 
His  name,  His  kingdom,  and  His  victory, 


"CASTING  CARE  UPON  HIM:'     123 

And  neither  height,  nor  depth,  nor  things  in 

heaven 
Or  earth  or  hell,  shall  pluck  thee  from  my  hand, 
Or  give  one  enemy  foothold  to  keep. 
Cast  then  thy  cares  on  me — all  cares  of  sin, 
Of  grief,  of  fear,  of  toil.     So  folded  close 
And  deep  within  my  perfect  love,  there  thou 
Shalt  learn  what  means  thy  Father's  word  of 

grace, 
His  sweet  '  much  more  '! " 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


EPITHALAMIUM. 

A    "SILVER    WEDDING." 

OVER  the  cloud-wrapt  mount; ins, 
Over  the  river  and  plain, 
From  the  city's  heart,  with  its  tremulous  thrilJt 
To  a  sunny  nest  on  the  western  hills, 
Greeting,  and  love,  and  acclaim. 

For  up  in  a  lofty  turret, 

— The  great  watch-tower  of  Time — 
The  century-bell  swings  to  and  fro, 
Striking  the  quarter  soft  and  low, 

With  a  ringing,  silvery  chime. 

■  Wedded  and  crowned,"  repeating : 
"  Crowned  and  wedded  long ;  " 
Ring  out !   ring  out !  O  century-bell, 
Thou  hast  never  a  happier  tale  to  tell, 

With  thy  hundred  tongues  of  song 
(127) 


1 2  8  EPITHALAMIUM. 

"Ring  for  the  years  in  their  passage, 
Ring  for  the  day  that  has  come, 
When  the  waving  harvest  of  loving  deeds, 
And  of  service  given  to  Earth's  great  needs, 
Lies  gathered  in  heart  and  home. 

Swift-winged  Thought  flies  backward, 
Over  the  years  that  are  fled, 
And,  standing  far  down  the  aisle  of  Time, 
She  sees  the  completion  of  Love's  sweet  rhyme 
In  a  vision  of  two  who  are  wed. 

Bending  her  ear  to  listen, 

She  catches — just  begun — 
The  wondrous  strain  of  Life's  great  Psalm, 
As  heart  meets  heart  in  holiest  calm, 

Forevermore  made  one. 

Steadily  down  the  pathway 
She  follows  them  year  by  year, 
While  the  Winter's  glory,  the  Summer's  bliss, 
The  year's  sweet  Vesper  and  Spring's  dream 
kiss, 
Glide  on  and  disappear. 


E  PITH  A  LA  MI  UM.  1 2  9 

Forward  through  storm  and  sunshine, 
Hasting  and  resting,  they  fare  ; 
While  the  shadows   sweep  on,  o'er  the  dial's 

plate, 
Life's  noon  is  past,  and  the  hour  grows  late, 
Or  ever  they  are  aware. 

But  Memory  smiles  at  the  treasure 

Garnered  within  her  grasp ; 
The  golden  grain  from  the  tear-sown  seed, 
The  bursting  sheaf  for  the  up-torn  weed, 

Bound  with  the  King's  own  clasp. 

Wrestlings  and  victories  and  losses, 
Songs  in  the  night-time  of  grief, 
Glorious  gifts  from  the  vineyard's  Lord, 
Of  children's  voices  and  heart's  accord, 
And  the  peace  that  passeth  belief. 

Ring,  then,  O  bell !  from  thy  tower, 
Our  greeting  of  love  and  joy  ; 
Our  prayer  for  a  blessing  on  these  who  stand 
In  Love's  own  royalty,  sweet  and  grand, 
A  kingdom  without  alloy. 


130  EPITHALAMIUM. 

"  Wedded  and  crowned,"  repeating, 

So  ring  the  years  away, 
Till  another  quarter-bell  peals  out, 
With  glad  acclaim  and  triumph-shout, 

The  GOLDEN  Wedding-Day 


EPITHALAMIUM. 

A    "GOLDEN   WEDDING." 

A  RICH,  glad,  sunny-pinioned  day, 
May's  beauty  lingering  still, 
While  June's  dream-splendor  soft  and  near, 

Falls  trembling  o'er  each  hill; 
Was  any  June  so  sweet  before, 

Or  any  time  so  bright, 
As  June  of  fifty  years  ago, 
Just  fifty  years  to-night  ? 

How  wide  that  far  horizon's  sweep, 

How  broad  the  flowery  land, 
How  every  hope  seemed  but  asleep 

To  wake  at  slight  command  ; 
How  flushed  with  all  the  joy  of  life, 

Strong,  glad,  and  confident, 
With  youth  and  love,  twin  gifts  of  God, 

Untried,  ungrieved,  unspent  ! 

(131) 


1 3  2  EPI THA  LA  MIUM. 

To-night  the  gates  are  all  ajar, 

The  shadowy  doors  unclose, 
And  hosts  of  trooping  memories 

Break  through  the  long  repose, 
Each  laden  with  its  gathered  wealth 

Of  lesson,  gift,  or  grief — 
Each  bearing  on  its  silent  breast 

Its  own  bright  harvest  sheaf. 

Dear,  honored  ones,  while  happy  thoughts, 

Like  clustering  doves  of  peace, 
Bring  to  your  hearts  this  gladdest  night 

The  full  years'  rich  increase  ; 
We,  joyfully,  would  steal  within 

While  doors  are  open  wide, 
And  pray  you  let  our  greeting  swell 

The  bright,  o'erflowing  tide. 

And  while  we  catch  the  echoing  notes 

Of  that  far  marriage  chime, 
Which  rings  through  all  the  varying  songs 

Of  all  this  happy  time  ; 
Our  hearts  would  benediction  speak 

Upon  the  coming  years, 


EPITHALAMICM.  133 

Wherein  ye  still  learn  love's  sweet  lore, 
And  still  share  smiles  and  tears. 

Hand  clasped  in  hand  in  holy  trust, 

And  heart  to  heart  unsealed, 
May  He  to  whose  most  loving  view 

The  future  lies  revealed, 
Dwell  with  you  on  those  blessed  heights 

In  peace  before  unknown, 
And  soften  even-  shadow  on 

"  Life's  changeful  canvas  "  thrown. 

Here,  then,  in  His  sweet  Beulah-land, 

Dear  pilgrims,  rest  and  pray  ; 
While  downward  from  the  eternal  hills 

Soft,  solemn  splendors  stray, 
And  angel  voices  whisper  near, 

11  When  time  this  day  repeats, 
At  marriage  supper  of  the  Lamb 

Will  be  your  happy  seats." 


IN    THE    NAME    OF    OUR    GOD    Wfi 
WILL  SET  UP  OUR  BANNERS. 

LIFT  up  on  the  mountains,  O  host  of  the 
Lord, 
With  voice  of  the  trumpet's  acclaim, 
Lift  up  on  the  mountains  our  banners  of  light, 
And  girded  with  strength,  march  on  to  the  fight 
In  our  Leader's  victorious  name. 

Bear  on  to  the  front  our  banner  of  Praise, 

In  imperial  purple  arrayed  ; 
For  "glory  to  God  in  the  highest"  shall  ring, 
As  the  army's  grand  choral  to  Jesus  our  King, 

Till  all  nations  His  own  shall  be  made. 

And  Faith's  banner,  pure  white,  unfurl  to  the 
breeze, 
For  she  marches  beside  us  at  night ; 
She  leads  through  the  desert  our  faltering  feet, 
And  sings  in  the  darkness,  her  litanies  sweet, 
Of  deliverance,  triumph,  and  sight. 
(134) 


IN  THE  NA ME  OF  0  UR  GOD.    1 35 

Then  lift  up  the  radiant  banner  of  Hope, 

In  her  symbol-color  of  blue ; 
For  clasping  Faith's  hand,  Hope  smiles  like  the 

light, 
And  with  beautiful  prophecies  follows  the  night, 

Like  sunrise  after  the  dew. 

And  Love  in  its  passionate  crimson,  the  Love 

That  is  greater  than  Hope  or  than  Faith ; 
The  glory  and  crown  of  the  army  below, 
The  holiest  strain  that  all  Heaven  can  know, 
The  grace  that  abideth  in  death. 

Then  lift  up  the  heart,  move  onward  with  song, 

Our  victory  now  draweth  nigh  ; 
Though  the  enemy's  legions  come  in  like  a  flood, 
Our  -  munitions  of  rocks  "  for  ages  have  stood, 

And"  God's  standards  are  floating  on  high. 


THE  BRIDE'S  OUTFIT.* 

THE  clouds  hung  low  in  the  Persian  sky, 
Where  gathered  a  little  band, 
In  sorrow  and  fear  this  word  to  hear, 
From  the  far,  free  Western  land  : 

*  That  saintly  and  now  sainted  missionary,  Dr.  Perkins, 
of  Persia,  u<=ed  to  say  that  he  had  never  seen  such  simple, 
tender  love  and  faith  as  existed  among  the  Nestorian  Chris- 
tians. And  such  adoring  gratitude,  such  heavenly  uplifting 
as  was  manifested  at  their  communion  seasons  he  never  ex- 
pected to  enjoy  again,  till  he  sat  down  to  the  marriage  supper 
of  the  Lamb.  These  characteristics  of  the  Nestorians  are 
beautifully  illustrated  in  an  incident  which  occurred  among 
them  during  the  great  financial  panic  of  1857-58  in  America. 
Hearing  of  the  crisis,  which  crippled  every  one  of  our  great 
missionary  societies,  compelling  them  to  retrench  on  every 
side  and  abandon  some  of  their  missions  altogether,  the 
Nestorian  Christians,  as  Dr.  Coan  and  Dr.  Robinson  have 
related,  s*  instantly  summoned  an  assembly  to  consider  how 
they  might  act  so  as  to  bestow  help  the  most  quickly  and 
with  most  force.  The  meeting  was  called  to  order  by  an 
aged  believer,  who  began  the  conference  by  a  distinct  allu- 
sion to  the  costliness  of  their  wedding  ceremonies  in  those 
Oriental  lands.  He  insisted  that  young  people  might  be 
married  in  plainer  costumes. 

"  k  Now  here,'  he  continued,  '  is  the  Church,  the  Bride 
(136) 


THE  BRIDE'S   OUTFIT.  137 

"  We've  no  more  to  give  and  no  more  to  pledge, 
Distress  and  misfortune  reign  ; 
Men's  hearts  are  failing  them  for  fear, 
And  the  land  reels  with  the  strain. 

"  Withdraw  the  workers  from  every  field, 
Their  books  from  the  children  take  ; 
Retrench  !  cut  down  !  remove  !  disband  ! 
The  outposts  backward  stake  !  " 

Tears  fell  like  rain  'mid  the  little  band, 
When  out  spoke  the  leader  old  : 
"  'Tis  the  Master's  work  and  it  must  not  fail, 
We  may  have  both  silver  and  gold. 

"  But  we  have  it  only  if  loving  hearts 
Are  ready  for  crosses  and  pain  ; 
Behold  before  us  the  blessed  way, 
If  but  pride  and  self  are  slain. 

"  Our  brides  go  decked  for  the  marriage  rite 
In  costly  and  brave  array, 

of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  she  is  compelled  to  go  unpro- 
vided for  to  her  Master's  palace  !  Cannot  we  join  hands 
to-day  to  give  her  a  fair  outfit  ?  ' 

M  The  figure  seemed  at  once  to  arrest  the  imagination  of 
those  simple-hearted  and  loving  Christians,  and  they  took 
it  up,"  as  here  described. 


138  THE  BRIDE'S  OUTFIT. 

In  beauty  of  silver  and  gold  and  pearl, 
They  shine  for  the  joyous  day. 

"  But  behold  the  Church,  the  Bride  of  our 
King, 
As  she  goes  to  His  palace  of  light ; 
She  goes  in  the  storm,  with  her  poor  bare 
feet, 
In  rags  and  scorn  and  despite. 

"  Did  ever  a  bride  in  such  meanest  array 
To  so  royal  a  husband  repair  ? 
Let  us  robe  her  anew,  as  befitteth  the  King, 
His  Bride  for  His  palace  prepare." 

Then  the  loving  little  Nestorian  band 
Caught  the  glowing  Orient  speech, 

And  promise  and  pledge  in  beautiful  word, 
Went  quickly  from  each  to  each. 

"  A  ring  she  must  have,  a  shining  pearl ; 
It  shall  be  my  gift,"  said  one  ; 
Said  another,  then,  "  For  her  journey  long, 
To  shield  her  from  storm  and  sun, 


THE  BRIDE'S  OUTFIT.  139 

"She  will  need  a  veil — I  will  cover  the  face 
Of  this  fair,  sweet  Bride  of  a  King." 
Still  another  spoke,  "  But  she  must  not  walk ; 
A  sure,  swift  steed  I  will  bring." 

"Oh,  Prince's  daughter,"  rang  soft  and  clear, 
"  How  beautiful  are  thy  feet  ! 
If  she  rides  she  must  have  the  richer  shoes  ; 
•    They  shall  be  for  her  station  meet." 

In  a  grave,  sweet  way,  still  another  voice 
Took  the  circling  symbol  up  ; 
"  The  wine  of  the  kingdom,  so  rich  and  pure, 
She  shall  drink  from  a  golden  cup." 

"  And  what  shall  she  eat  on  the  wearisome 
way  ?  " 

Said  the  leader,  questioning  still  ; 
"  The  sweetest  fruit  of  my  vineyard,"  said  one, 

"  From  the  sunniest  spot  on  the  hill." 

"  Can  a  maiden  her  ornaments  e'er  forget  ?  " 
('Twas  the  voice  of  a  fair  young  girl), 

"  I  will  give  my  own  for  this  queenly  Bride, 
Silver,  and  agate,  and  pearl." 


j4o  THE  BRIDE'S  OUTFIT. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  give  but  a  poor  worn  mat," 
From  his  poverty  then  spake  one, 

"  But  perhaps  the  Queen  would  step  upon  that 
When  her  long  day's  ride  is  done." 

Now,  Mar  Yohannan,  their  ruler,  sat 

In  silence  amid  them  there  ; 
No  word  had  escaped  him,  unless,  perhaps, 

He  were  saying  an  inward  prayer. 

Then  the  leader  cried,  with  a  piercing  glance 
On  the  royal  guest  cast  down, 
"  Who  gives  for  this  daughter  of  a  King, 
And  this  Bride  of  a  Prince,  a  crown  ?  " 

Then  Mar  Yohannan  where  he  sat, 
Upraised  his  princely  hand  ; 
"  Right  royally,  with  a  crown,"  said  he, 
11  Shall  the  Bride  go  through  my  land." 

So  the  clouds  were  cleared  from  the  Persian 
sky, 
And  the  earnest  Nestorian  band, 
With   their  precious   offerings   thrilled   the 
heart 
Of  the  far,  free  Western  land, 


THE  BRIDE'S   OUTFIT.  141 

Where  silver  and  gold,  and  wealth  untold, 
Are  heaped,  and  wasted,  or  stored — 

So  much  poured  out  for  self  and  the  world. 
So  little  for  Christ  the  Lord. 

Ah,  surely,  the  Prince's  beautiful  Bride 
Goes  crownless  through  many  a  land, 

Nor  ring,  nor  veil,  nor  a  golden  cup 
Is  offered  from  many  a  hand. 

Ah,  empty  hands  with  never  a  gift, 

With  sacrifice  never  the  least, 
Will  the  King  reach  down  full  hands  to  you 

When  He  calls  to  the  marriage  feasr  ? 


THE   INDIAN'S   LAMENT. 

THE  story  of  his  wanderings  far  and  wide, 
An  aged  chief  told  to  his  Indian  braves  ; 
Of  lake  and  river  and  broad  ocean  tide, 
And  cities'  ceaseless  roar  of  human  waves ; 

Of  stately  dwellings,  gay  with  light  and  song, 
Of  churches  grand,   with    heaven-reaching 
spire, 
Of  music  that  could  but  to  heaven  belong, 
And  broke  one's  heart  with  subtle,  strange 
desire. 

But  silence  fell  upon  him,  when  they  asked 
What  sight  was  wonderful  o'er  all  the  rest — 

What  thing  between  the  east  and  western  sun 
The  greatest  man-el  seemed  in  all  his  quest. 

At  last  with  voice  that  broke  as  if  through  tears, 
Yet  bravely  held  its  deep,  pathetic  chord, 
(142) 


THE  INDIAN'S  LAMENT.       143 

He  spake  again,  yet  spake  as  one  who  fears 
Accusing  unbelief  of  all  his  word. 

"  I  went,"  he  said,  "  where  churches  stately 
stood 
With  '  long  -  drawn  aisles '  and  arches  up- 
ward thrown, 
With  carven  symbol  of  Christ's  holy  rood, 
And  organ  in  whose  heart  praise  was  in- 
grown. 

"  There  all  my  pale-faced  brothers  stood  and 

said, 

1  The  Lord  is  in  His  temple — let  the  earth 

Keep  silence.'    Then  a  moment  bowed  each 

head 

Before  the  glorious  burst  of  song  had  birth. 

"  Then  in  the  Christ's  dear  stead  one  spake 
this  word  : 
'Come   unto   me  —  find   place   upon    my 
breast ; 
My  blood  can  cleanse  all  sin  ;  have  ye  not 
heard 
I  gave  my  life  that  ye  might  thus  find  rest  ?  ' 


U14      H2X  JXUCJUTS  ZAME&T. 


-;:  :;."c  u 


THE  INDIAN'S  LAMENT.       145 

Within  the  forest  shade  they  sat  and  grieved, 
None  spake  aught  more  but  that  one  sad- 
dest word  : 
"  Late — late — past  noon  " — alas,  their  brothers 
had  received 
Such  word  so  long  ago — but  they — they 
had  not  heard  ! 


OUR  BETHLEHEM. 

SABBATH  in  the  Hebrew  temple 
Dawned  with  rite  and  sacrifice ; 
From  their  places,  priest  and  psalmist 
Watched  soft  clouds  of  incense  rise. 
Then  the  golden  trumpets  trembled, 

Then  the  cymbals  clashed  again, 
While  the  choral  throng,  responsive, 
Caught  the  high,  prophetic  strain. 

Unto  us  a  Son  is  given, 

Unto  us  a  child  is  born  ! 
Sing,  O  earth,  rejoice,  O  heaven, 

Now  is  come  the  promised  morn. 
Christ  shall  now  have  full  dominion, 

Kings  shall  bow  before  His  feet, 
Gentile  lands  be  His  possession, 

Every  tongue  His  praise  repeat. 

Blessed  she  among  all  women 
Who  this  kingly  child  shall  bear ; 
(146) 


OUR  BETHLEHEM.  147 

Praise  Him,  on  the  sounding  cymbals, 
Praise  Him,  earth  and  sea  and  air  !  " 

From  the  court  beyond  the  altar 
Broke  there,  then,  a  wailing  cry, 

Where  one,  old  and  sorrow-stiicken, 
Prostrate  in  her  grief  did  lie. 

1  Woe  is  me,"  she  uttered,  sobbing  ; 

"  All  the  years  I  prayed  and  wept, 
Hoping  that  for  me  this  glory 

Somewhere  in  my  pathway  slept. 
Hoping  mine  should  be  the  Christ-child, 

Mine  the  blessed  motherhood 
Every  maid  in  Judah's  borders 

Longed  for,  hoped,  and  understood. 

But,  alas  !  the  vision  tarries, 

And  I  tremble  to  the  grave  ; 
Never  mine  can  be  the  joy  of 

Bearing  Him  who  comes  to  save  ! " 
Then  again  her  grief  o'erswept  her 

Like  some  tempest  of  the  night; 
But  beyond  still  broke  the  chorus, 

"  Praise  Him,  all  ye  stars  of  light !  " 


148  OUR  BETHLEHEM. 

Gone,  the  music  and  the  splendor, 

Gone,  long  years,  the  nation's  pride, 
Where,  in  fullness  of  the  vision, 

Christ  was  born  and  crucified. 
Yet  behold  still  comes  an  angel, 

Silently  through  all  the  land, 
Lily  of  annunciation 

Holding  ever  in  his  hand  ! 

Lo,  within  our  souls  the  promise 

Burns  in  song  forever  new — 
"  Christ  the  Lord  is  born  within  you, 

Ye  who  my  commandments  do. 
Ye,  my  sister  and  my  mother, 

High  or  low,  o'er  all  the  earth  !  " 
Oh,  how  throbs  each  heart  of  woman 

In  the  mystery  of  that  birth  ! 

Blessed  she  who,  though  not  seeing, 
Yet  with  loyal  heart  believes,    , 

Through  this  spiritual  travail, 
In  her  soul  the  Christ  receives. 

Yet,  like  that  pure  maiden-mother 
On  the  fair  Judean  hills, 


OUR  BETHLEHEM.  149 

Each  who  truly  bears  this  Saviour 
Wider  prophecy  fulfils. 

Each  is  priestess  at  an  altar 

For  the  world's  despairing  need  ; 
Each  some  gift  may  cast  upon  it, 

Each  some  sacrifice  may  plead. 
Fervent  love,  like  Christ's,  outpouring, 

Each  the  tide  of  sin  may  stem, 
Till,  to  every  soul,  a  Saviour 

Makes  a  new,  glad  Bethlehem. 


THE   LAST   OFFERING.* 

PLAINTIVE  and  tender  the  voice  that 
was  heard, 
Yet  it  sounded  through  all  the  land  : 
"  Now,  who  will  go  for  the  Lord,"  it  cried, 
"  Now,  who  in  the  breach  will  stand  ? 

"  For  I  am  weary  and  full  of  years, 
And  'tis  fit  that  the  burden  fall 
To  stronger,  brighter,  heroic  hearts 
Wherever  the  Lord  shall  call. 

"  And  my  dark-hued  children  cry  aloud, 
•  How  fast,  how  fast  we  die  ; 
Oh,  quickly,  more  quickly  the  Gospel  send 
Where  we  in  our  darkness  lie.' 

*  The  Rev.  Dr.  Albert  Bushnell,  for  many  years  a  mis- 
sionary in  Africa,  returned  to  this  country  in  his  old  age, 
hoping  to  spend  here  the  remainder  of  his  life,  but  finding 
no  response  to  his  call  for  a  younger  man  to  take  his  place 
in  Africa,  he  sailed  again  for  his  mission-field,  but  died  on 
shipboard  almost  within  sight  of  his  African  home. 
(ISO) 


THE  LAST  OFFER  J XG.  751 

•*  Now  who  will  go,"  again  he  cried, 

"  And  who  in  the  breach  will  stand  ?  " 
Alas,  alas,  not  a  voice  replied, 
Through  all  the  heaven-blessed  land  ! 

Then  he  turned  from  the  green  and  happy 
fields, 
From  the  graves  of  all  his  dead, 
From  the  longed-for  rest,  through  years  de- 
nied 
To  the  weary  heart  and  head. 

And  he  said,  "  Dear  Lord,  I  have  naught  to 
give, 

The  years  of  my  pilgrimage  end  ; 
Tired  and  stricken  and  spent  am  I, 

Yet  none  is  there  else  to  send. 

"  Take  vie,  my  King,  and  with  heavenly  fire 
Touch  Thou  my  lips  once  more  ; 
Again  for  Thee,  for  Thee  and  for  souls, 
I  will  seek  that  far-off  shore. 

"  For  heaven  is  near,  whether  here  or  there, 
And  I  shall  not  lose  Thy  smile ; 


^2  THE  LAST  OFFERING. 

And  the  few  more  months — it  matters  not 
If  I  be  weary  the  while. 

"  And  I  might,  perchance,  win  another  soul, 
One  last  glad  trophy  for  Thee, 
One  last  sweet  note  in  my  joyful  song, 
When  the  angels  shall  come  for  me." 

So,  counting  gain  but  loss  for  his  Lord, 

His  saintly  soul  toiled  on, 
Till  the  sea  was  passed,  the  journey  o'er, 

And  the  goal  was  almost  won. 

But  nearer  than  even  his  thought,  had  been 
God's  glorious  heaven  the  while, 

And  the  gates  were  opened  wide,  almost 
In  sight  of  his  sunny  isle. 

Oh,  surely,  the  song  was  a  threefold  joy, 
On  the  golden  streets  that  day, 

When  this  martyr-soul  in  a  glad  surprise 
Passed  up  the  shining  way. 

But  loud  from  a  lowly  sacred  grave 
On  the  shores  of  a  far-off  land, 


THE  LAST  OFFERING.  153 

Comes  back   the   cry,  "  Who  goes  for  the 
Lord, 
And  who  in  the  breach  will  stand  ?  " 

Oh,  where  are  the  heroes  pledged  to  the 
King, 

To  make  this  offering  good, 
To  take  their  lives  in  their  zealous  hands, 

And  stand  where  he  would  have  stood  ? 

They  tell  a  tale  in  u  the  Flowery  Land," 

Among  their  fables  so  old, 
How,  to  Pousa  the  potter,  an  order  was  given 

A  service  of  plate  to  mould, 

More  dainty  than  any  had  ever  seen, 

For  his  sovereign's  use  alone  ; 
But  he  stood  in  despair  before  the  fires 

Where  his  last  best  work  was  shown. 

For  naught  was  fit  for  the  Master's  eye  ; 

Yet  would  he  some  offering  make  ; 
Then  he  cast  hitnself  on  the  glowing  coals, 

Consumed  for  his  monarch's  sake. 


I54  THE  LAST  OFFERING. 

But  lo,  when  they  drew  him  forth  from  the 
flame, 

A  wondrous  burden  they  brought ; 
For  such  costly  service  never  was  seen, 

As  from  Pousa's  self  was  wrought ! 

Oh,  where  are  the  glowing  martyr-hearts 

Consuming  at  God's  demand  ? 
Now,  who  this  day  will  go  for  the  Lord, 

And  who  in  the  breach  will  stand  ? 


THE   MESSAGE   TO   THE   SEVEN 
CHURCHES.* 

TOEHOLD,  He  cometh  with  clouds, 
-■— '     And  they  that  pierced  Him  shall  see  ; 
Nor  veil  of  tent  or  of  temple  enshrouds 
The  presence  no  creature  can  flee. 

*  The  epistles  to  the  seven  churches,  though  full  of  poetic 
beauty  on  the  very  surface,  require  close  and  careful  study 
to  bring  out  the  depth  and  wonderful  significance  of  all  the 
allusion  and  imagery  employed.  A  merely  casual  reading 
gives  no  idea  of  the  singular  unity  of  all  the  parts,  and  of 
the  exquisite  adaptation  of  announcement,  rebuke,  praise, 
and  promise  to  the  condition  of  each  separate  church.  As 
for  instance,  with  Smyrna,  the  martyr-church,  giving  up 
life  for  the  truth,  to  them  is  the  promise  of  the  crown  of  life. 
To  Pergamos,  holding  fast  truth  in  doctrine,  but  inclined  to 
worldly  compromise  in  practice,  is  the  promise  of  the  hid- 
den manna  in  place  of  the  idol  fe.i*ts  —  an  allusion  to  the  pot 
of  manna  hidden  in  the  ark  in  the  Holy  of  Holies.  Ephesus 
holds  the  faith,  but  is  lacking  in  love.  Thyatira  is  warm  and 
loving,  brt  corrupts  doctrine.  To  Sardis,  dead  with  sleep, 
Christ  will  come  as  a  thief  in  the  night.  And,  curiously, 
Philadelphia  is  the  missionary  church,  before  whom  is  set 
the  open  door  of  ihe  world,  as  reward  for  her  constancy,  and 
upon  whom  is  written  the  wonderful  triune  name.  And 
Laodicea,  most  sharply  rebuked  of  all,  has  also  the  most 

(155) 


156      TO  THE  SEVEN  CHURCHES. 

With  glory  now  compassed  about 

In  sevenfold  splendor  of  light, 
'Mid  the  golden  lamps,  moving  in  and  out, 

Majestic  He  walks  in  His  might. 

A  King  by  the  girdle's  sign, 

A  Priest,  by  the  vesture,  He  ; 
While  His  voice  with  the  might  of  a  trumpet 
breaks 

Thro'  the  hush  of  the  sunlit  sea. 

And  behold,  at  that  awful  word, 

In  myst'ry  of  star  and  of  flame, 
In  solemn  recital,  the  Church  of  the  Lord 

Stands  forth  in  a  sevenfold  name. 

Who  hath  ears,  let  him  hear  what  He  saith, 
For  He  cometh,  the  day  is  at  hand  ! 

Strengthen   every   defense,   and   endure   unto 
death, 
For  ev'n  now  at  the  door  doth  He  stand  ! 


tender  and  beautiful  promises,  reminding  one  of  the  parable 
of  the  prodigal  son. 

To  us,  from  and  through  these  epistles,  come  the  most 
solemn  of  warnings,  the  most  appreciative  of  praises,  and 
the  most  loving  of  promises. 


TO  THE  SEVEN  CHURCHES.       157 

Lo,  that  island  of  vision  still  lies 

On  the  breast  of  the  sunlit  sea, 
Nor  thunders  now  tremble,  nor  voices  arise, 

Nor  any  that  answer  there  be. 
The  churches  lie  barren  and  dead 

Where  the  prophet  their  record  hath  sealed, 
The  books  have  been  closed  and  their  judg- 
ment is  read, 

In  sentence  or  promise  revealed. 

Yet,  strangely,  all  down  thro'  the  years, 

Stray  echoes  of  long  vanished  strife, 
And  thro'  the  earth's  battles  and  sorrows  and 
fears, 

Throbs  the  pulse  of  the  Church's  life. 
And  still  doth  that  mightiest  voice 

Call  singly  the  sevenfold  name, 
O'er  these  to  sorrow,  o'er  those  to  rejoice, 

With  message  of  praise  or  of  blame. 

Still  martyrs  in  Smyrna  are  sealed, 
Still  churches  Ephesian  have  breath, 

Blind  Laodiceans  still  wait  to  be  healed, 
And  Sardis  lies  careless  in  death. 


153       TO  THE  SEVEN  CHURCHES. 

Who  hath  ears,  let  him  hear,  saith  the  Lord, 
For  He  cometh  ;  the  clay  is  at  hand  ! 

As  of  old,  with  the  solemn  surprise   of  His 
word, 
At  the  door  of  His  Church  doth  He  stand. 

Oh,  Ephesus,  faithful  yet  cold, 

Where  art  thou,  at  voice  of  thy  Lord  ? 
Thy  patience  and  toil  He  hath  tenderly  told, 

And  thy  fearless  defense  of  His  Word. 
But  alas,  for  thy  glowing  first  love  ! 

The  grace  of  all  graces  is  dim  ! 
He  standeth  without,  and   His  voice  cannot 
move 

His  Beloved  to  open  to  Him. 
Thou  forsakest  the  gardens  of  old, 

Where  once  'mid  the  lilies  He  fed ; 
Oh  remember,  return,  ere  thy  star  from  His 
hold 

Shall  be  cast,  and  thy  light  shall  be  fled. 
Lo,  he  that  hath  ears,  let  him  hear  ! 

Unto  him  that  shall  thus  overcome, 
Shall  the  gift  of  the  lost  Eden-tree  reappear, 

In  the  glory  of  Paradise-bloom. 


TO  THE  SEVEN  CHURCHES.      159 

Oh,  Smyrna,  sweet  myrrh  for  thy  Lord, 

The  Living  One  calleth  for  thee  ! 
In  deep  tribulation,  by  prison  and  sword, 

Thou  sifted  of  Satan  must  be. 
Yet  He  knoweth  the  way  thou  dost  take, 

Thou  dove  in  the  fowler's  fell  snare ; 
Accounting  not  dear  even  life,  for  His  sake, 

Life's  kingliest  crown  thou  shalt  wear. 

Thou,  Pergamos,  holding  Christ's  name, 

Where  Satan  hath  power  and  throne, 
Thou  keepest  the  faith,  yet  not  without  blame, 

The  world's  easy  sanctions  hast  known. 
Repent  thee,  and  strive  for  the  gift 

That  shall  crown  such  recovering  grace, 
The  wilderness  secrets,  their  veil  shall  uplift, 

Thou  shalt  enter  the  Holiest  place. 
And  for  feasts  of  idolatrous  ease, 

Shall  be  sacrament-secret  of  love, 
And  the  shining  white  stone,  with  the  name  of 
His  peace, 

Is  God's  secret — all  secrets  above. 

Thyatira,  thy  service  and  love, 
Thy  patience  and  faith  are  approved, 


160      TO  THE  SEVEN  CHURCHES. 

Yet   thou    keepest    not    truth   as   pure   from 
above, 
And  false  teachers  thou  hast  not  removed. 
Behold,  He  searcheth  the  heart ; 

Repent  and  stand  fast  till  He  come  ; 
Then   with   symbols   of  royalty,    sceptre  and 
star, 
He  giveth  thee  power  and  throne. 

Oh,  Sardis,  dead  Sardis,  arise  ! 

What  word  hath  the  Master  for  thee  ? 
Consumed  in  the  sevenfold  flame  of  His  eyes, 

Thy  name  and  thy  service  shall  be, 
Praised  falsely  of  men,  as  alive, 

Thou  art  but  dead  refuge  of  lies  ; 
Except  thou  repent  and  remember  and  strive, 

Thou  shalt  waken  to  awful  surprise. 
Yet  even  in  Sardis — oh,  word 

Of  surpassing  and  tender  content — 
He  hath  found  a  few  names,  hidden  ones  of  thf 
Lord, 

With  garments  unsullied,  unrent. 
Out  of  Sardis,  ev'n  Sardis,  His  child 

He  will  own  in  the  presence  divine ; 


TO   THE  SEVEN  CHURCHES.       161 

O'er  the  white  robes  of  grace,  by  the  world 
undefiled, 
Whitest  raiment  of  glory  shall  shine. 

Behold  now  the  Holy  and  True, 

Who  alone  hath  the  Paradise  key, 
Thy  works,  Philadelphia,  hath  in  review, 

And  findeth  no  blemish  in  thee. 
Thou  little  one,  loving  and  pure, 

Thou  hast  thy  peculiar  reward  ; 
To  thee,  He  hath  opened  the  wonderful  door 

That  gives  thee  the  world  for  thy  Lord  ! 

Thrice  blessed  and  happy  art  thou  ! 

Thine,  thine  is  the  mission  most  high  ! 
At  thy  conquering  feet  shall  God's  Israel  bow, 

And  worship  whom  now  they  deny. 
Lo,  quickly  He  cometh  !     Hold  fast 

Thy  patience,  thy  love  and  thy  crown  ; 
When  the  hour  of  temptation  shall  be  over- 
past, 

He  shall  number  and  gather  His  own. 

In  that  city,  whose  temple  is  God, 
They  pillars  of  beauty  shall  stand  ; 


1 62      TO  THE  SEVEN  CHURCHES. 

Thro'  measureless  ages  they  safe  shall  abide 

In  the  blessed  Jerusalem-land. 
And  such  birthright  of  grace  to  proclaim, 

On  them  graved  of  the  King's  very  hand, 
His  God's,  His  City's,  His  own  new  name, 

In  mysterious  trinity  stand. 

And  yet  once  again  comes  the  word, 

Of  solemn  and  chastening  love. 
Oh,  Laodicean,  thy  boast  He  hath  heard, 

Thy  works  to  reject  and  reprove. 

Thou  sittest  at  ease,  as  of  old, 

Complacent  in  riches  and  pride, 
Neither  fervent   with   love,  nor  with   enmity 
cold  ; 

Thou  dost  thus  condemnation   abide. 


Poor,  wretched,  and  naked  and  blind, 
He  deigneth  to  counsel  with  thee ; 

Tried  gold,  and  white  raiment  and  vision  dJ 
vine 
He  offers  with  tenderest  plea. 


TO   THE  SEVEN  CHURCHES.      163 

With  infinite  longing  oflove, 

He  stoopeth  to  suppliant  place  ; 
If  to  open  the  portal,  thy  heart  He  can  move, 

He  will  enter  with  Eucharist  grace. 

Then  glory,  all  glory  above  ! 

The  saints  and  their  Lord  shall  be  one ! 
With  her  warfare  accomplished,  the  Bride  of 
His  love 

Shall  sit  down  with  the  Lamb  on  His  throne  ! 
******** 
And  after  these  wonders,  behold, 

"  A  door  was  opened  in  Heaven," 
And  great  alleluias  of  victory  rolled 

Thro'  the  host  of  the  much-forgiven. 
The  voice  of  God's  thunders  broke  forth, 

The  voice  of  great  waters  swelled  high, 
All   kindreds   and   peoples,  and   nations   and 
tongues 

Were  joined  in  one  jubilant  cry  ! 
Alleluia  !  all  blessing  and  praise 

Be  unto  the  Lamb  that  was  slain, 
For  His  marriage  hath  come,  and  the  Bride  of 
His  grace 

Is  faultless  of  blemish  or  stain  1 


1 64      TO  THE  SEVEN  CHURCHES. 

Now  glory  and  riches  and  might, 

All  wisdom  and  blessing  again ! 
Praise  ye  Him  in  the  depth,  praise  His  name 
in  the  height, 

Unto  ages  of  ages,  Amen  ! 


HYMN. 

WRITTEN    FOR    THE     MEETING     OF     THE    WOMAN'S    FOREIGN 
MISSIONARY  SOCIETY,  HELD  IN  BALTIMORE,  MAY  9,  187?. 

THE  whole  wide  world  for  Jesus  ! 
Once  more  before  we  part, 
Ring  out  the  joyful  watchword 

From  every  grateful  heart. 
The  whole  wide  world  for  Jesus  ! 

Be  this  our  battle-cry, 
The  lifted  cross  our  oriflamme, 
A  sign  to  conquer  by ! 

The  whole  wide  world  for  Jesus  ! 

From  out  the  Golden  Gate, 
Through  all  Pacific's  sunny  isles 

To  China's  princely  state  ; 
From  India's  vales  and  mountains, 

Through  Persia's  land  of  bloom, 
To  storied  Palestina 

And  Afric's  desert  gloom ; 
(165) 


1 66  HYMN. 

The  whole  wide  world  for  Jesus, 

Through  all  its  fragrant  zones  ! 
Ring  out  again  the  watchword 

In  loftiest,  gladdest  tones. 
The  whole  wide  world  for  Jesus  ! 

We'll  wing  the  song  with  prayer 
And  link  the  prayer  with  labor, 

Till  Christ  his  crown  shall  wear. 


THE  VISIT  OF  THE  MAGI. 

IN  an  old  Judean  city, 
Years  and  years  ago, 
Came  a  little  Hebrew  baby 
To  this  world  of  woe. 

Wise  men  far  away  were  waiting, 

Looking  for  a  King, 
Who,  though  bearing  Judah's  sceptre. 

Peace  to  all  should  bring. 

For  through  sweet  old  Persian  story, 

Through  Chaldean  lore, 
Through  far  Araby's  wild  legends, 

Pondered  o'er  and  o'er, 

Ran  the  same  dim  thread  prophetic, 
Which  they  sought  to  trace, 

Searching  for  some  happy  signal 
All  the  starry  space. 

(167) 


1 68      THE    VISIT  OF   THE  MAGI 

While  the  very  air  seemed  whispering 

Of  this  King  divine, 
Suddenly  across  the  heavens 

Streamed  the  wondrous  sign. 

Then  with  joy  and  exultation, 

To  the  lands  afar 
Straightway  followed  they  the  vision 

Of  the  herald-star. 

Spices  rare  and  perfumes  bore  they, 

Offerings  rich,  of  gold, 
Precious  things  and  shining  treasure, 

Costly  and  untold. 

Night  by  night  they  journeyed  onward, 

Heedful  not  of  harm  ; 
Cold  nor  heat  nor  desert's  dangers 

Could  their  hearts  alarm. 

So  at  last,  behold,  fair  Salem 

Glistened  on  its  height ! 
Surely  in  this  royal  city 

He  would  bless  their  sight. 


THE    VISIT  OF   THE  MAGI.      169 

Crowned  and  throned,  with  thronging  courtiers 

'Round  his  palace  gate  ; 
Surely  here  must  dwell  their  sovereign, 

High  in  princely  state. 

Eagerly  they  pressed  and  questioned : 

"  Where  is  now  your  King  ? 
We  have  seen  His  glorious  herald ; 

Tribute  here  we  bring." 

None  made  answer.    Guilty  Herod 

Trembled  on  his  throne  ; 
Asked    the    priests :    "  Whence   saith    your 
prophet 

Christ,  the  Lord,  shall  come  ?  " 

Then  he  called  the  eager  Magi. 

"Find  this  child,"  he  said ; 
"  Then  bring  answer,  that  to  worship 

I,  too,  may  be  led." 

And  behold,  as  they  departed, 

Shone  once  more  the  star, 
Leading  to  the  feet  of  Jesus 

From  their  land  afar. 


l7o      THE    VISIT  OF   THE  MAGI. 

But  no  crown  nor  throne  nor  palace 

Had  He  there  to  show ; 
He  was  just  the  little  baby, 

Born  so  long  ago. 

Yet  the  star  had  brought  them  thither, 

Not  a  doubt  oppressed  ; 
Kneeling  there,  most  joyful  worship 

Every  tongue  expressed. 

Every  hand  held  forth  its  treasure, 
Each  heart  gave  Him  throne, 

While  their  gold  and  myrrh  and  incense 
Crowned  Him  King  alone. 

Thus  it  happened  in  that  city 

Years  and  years  ago  ; 
This  the  story  of  the  wise  men 

Seeking  Christ  to  know. 

Now  no  city  holds  or  hides  Him, 

Now  we  need  no  star ; 
Every  child  may  seek  and  find  Him, 

Going  not  afar. 


THE    VISIT  OF   THE  MAGI.      171 

Have  you  gifts  to  bring,  dear  children — 

Myrrh  and  spice  and  gold, 
Hearts  of  love  and  hands  for  service, 

Gifts  of  worth  untold  ? 

WiWyou  crown  this  blessed  Jesus 

As  your  only  King  ? 
Give  your  life's  glad,  true  devotion. 

Souls  to  Him  to  bring  ? 

Seek  Him  then,  not  like  the  Magi, 

Wandering  far  and  wide. 
Earth  is  always  close  to  heaven 

Each  sweet  Christmas-tide. 


FLOWER-WALLS. 

A  TRUE  INCIDENT. 

«  T^w  ARLING  little  girly, 

-L^      Won't  she  try  to  stand  ? 

Won't  she,  just  one  minute, 
Let  go  mamma's  hand  ? 

•  Just  the  tips  of  fingers  then — 
Now  !  now  stand  alone  !  " 
Naught  could  tempt  the  fairy 
Into  feats  unknown. 

Out  here  in  the  garden, 
('Twas  the  midst  of  June) 

Down  we  stood  the  baby 
In  this  bed  of  bloom. 

Right  amid  the  flowers, 

They  as  tall  as  she, 
Stood  the  child  delighted, 

Clapped  her  hands  in  glee, 
(172) 


FLO  WER-  WALLS.  173 

She  thought,  of  course,  the  flowers 
Were  like  mother's  hand — 

Strong  to  catch  and  hold  her, 
So  she  dared  to  stand. 

Sense  of  sure  protection 

Like  a  body-guard, 
Gave  the  flowers  bright  and  tall, 

Keeping  watch  and  ward. 

Ah,  sweet  little  maiden, 

Faith  is  such  a  power, 
Though  it  only  "  make  believe  ' 

Hold  thee  by  a  flower. 

And  I  thought,  like  baby, 

We  of  older  years 
Often  lean  on  flowery  walls, 

Letting  go  our  fears. 

Fears  that  sometimes  blind  us 

To  our  noblest  powers, 
Till  God  gently  sets  us  down 

In  some  bed  of  flowers. 


TO  MY  BIBLE-CLASS. 

A  FAREWELL. 

MEETING,  parting,  thro'  the  world, 
In  and  out  we  go, 
Here  and  there,  with  loving  care, 
Precious  seed  we  sow. 

Gaining,  losing,  day  by  day, 

Each  impressing  each, 
Not  a  touch  but  in  the  end 

Hath  eternal  reach. 

Thus  my  heart  dwells  thoughtfully 

On  to-day's  farewell, 
Pondering  what  the  joy  or  grief, 

Eternity  may  tell. 

Wondering  what  these  precious  hours 

Have  for  each  outwrought 
Of  upward  growth,  of  holy  life, 

Of  consecrated  thought. 
(174) 


TO  MY  BIBLE-CLASS.  175 

Hours  when  Christ  our  loving  Lord, 

Made  our  sweetest  theme  ; 
Hours  when  in  our  hearts  His  grace 

Seemed  to  reign  supreme. 

When  with  tender,  happy  tears, 

Penitent  and  still, 
Each  young  heart  sent  up  its  prayer 

For  moulding  to  His  will. 

Ended  now  this  sacred  page 

In  your  life's  fair  book. 
Tell  me,  dear  ones,  now  and  then 

Will  you  backward  look  ? 

You  whom  now  my  love  enfolds, 

Grant  that  love  one  claim — 
With  these  lessons  from  the  Word, 

Ever  link  my  name. 

That  in  all  the  years  to  come 

I  may  be  to  you, 
Only  one  whom  Jesus  sent, 

On  your  journey  through, 


176  TO  MY  BIBLE-CLASS. 

Just  to  place  one  stepping-stone 

In  the  flowing  tide, 
Which  might  help  your  eager  feet 

Toward  the  heavenly  side. 

Let  your  consecration  be 

Earnest  and  entire ; 
Let  your  building-work  be  such 

As  will  bear  the  fire, 

Counting  your  most  precious  things 

None  too  dear  to  give 
To  your  loving  Lord,  who  gave 

All  that  you  might  live. 

So  life's  lesson-mysteries  all, 
Will  grow  clear  and  bright, 

So  heaven's  glad  good-morning  ring 
After  earth's  good-night. 


o 


CONSECRATION* 

H,  day  of  solemn  gladness  ! 
Oh,  day  of  pledge  divine  ! 
Thou  seemedst  unto  risen  souls 
True  resurrection  sign, 

As  in  the  sacred  temple, 

The  feast  of  love  we  kept, 
While  even  on  the  holy  air 

Sweet  benediction  slept. 

The  calm,  pure  Easter  lilies, 

Each  one  a  Gospel  rare, 
Drooped  o'er  the  font's  rich  carven  grace, 

Like  saintly  hearts  at  prayer. 

*  Written  on  the  occasion  of  the  celebration  of  the  sac- 
rament of  the  Lord's  Supper,  at  the  First  Presbyterian 
Church,  Auburn,  N.  Y.,  April  5th  (Easter  Sunday),  when 
sixty-three  persons,  mostly  young  people,  made  public  pro- 
fession of  their  faith. 

(177) 


1 7  8  CONSECRA  TION. 

While  grouped  before  the  altar, 

An  earnest,  loving  band, 
Gave  up  to  God  their  glad  young  lives, 

And  kept  His  last  command. 

The  pure  baptismal  water 

Fell  like  a  tender  rain, 
As  if  to  wash  as  "  white  as  snow  " 

Sin's  heavy  "  crimson  stain." 

And  with  the  sweet  anointing, 
Each  spoke  on  bended  knee, 

The  words  that  'neath  the  lilies  slept 
In  blossoms — "  Christ  for  me." 

Thus  went  they  from  the  altar, 
With  vow  and  pledge  and  prayer ; 

God,  men,  and  angels,  witnessing 
The  consecration  there. 

And  through  the  throbbing  silence 

A  wondrous  song  awoke, 
As  if  upon  the  Crystal  Sea 

The  waves  of  gladness  broke. 


CONSE  CRA  TION.  1 7  9 

As  if  the  "  many  harpers  " 

Caught  up  the  joyous  strain, 
With  shout  on  shout  of  victory, 

For  Him  who  had  been  slain. 

Loud  chanting  "  Hallelujah, 

Oh,  Lamb  of  God,  to  Thee ; 
For  these  are  Thine,  and  Thou  art  theirs 

To  all  eternity  !  " 

Oh,  day  of  solemn  gladness ! 

True  Easter  of  the  soul ! 
Apart  from  all  life's  other  days 

Thou  art,  while  days  shall  roll. 


ONLY    FOR    ONE. 

THOUGHTS,  thoughts,  thoughts, 
Like  the  restless  waves  of  the  sea, 
Wild  as  the  storm,  and  sad  as  my  song 
"  O  Love,  come  back  tome!" 

Away  through  the  angry  tempest, 

Out  from  the  rest  of  home, 
Following,  following  evermore, 

Wherever  my  Love  doth  roam. 

For  the  gray  old  year  is  dying 

In  the  night  and  storm  and  gloom, 

And  I  sit  alone,  without  my  Love, 
In  this  dim,  forsaken  room, 

Where  strange  sounds  break  the  silence 

In  the  pauses  of  the  storm, 
And  tne  fire  burns  low,  and  the  shadows  grow, 

And  only  my  heart  is  warm. 
(180) 


ONLY  FOR  ONE.  181 

For  this  same  old  year  is  dying, 
To  that  other,  where'er  he  may  be— 

This  crowning  year  of  the  years  of  life, 
That  gave  my  Love  to  me. 

But  hark  !  I  hear  awaking, 

An  infant  year  in  its  glee — 
I  will  sing  it  a  song  that  will  make  it  smile 

And  give  back  my  Love  to  me. 

New  year, 

Sweet  year, 
Glad  little  child, 

Heaven-gained 

Unstained, 
Earth's  undefiled. 


New  year, 

Regal  year, 
Mounting  to  thy  throne, 

Here  I  kneel, 

To  thee  appeal — 
Send  my  wand'rer  home. 


1 82  ONLY  FOR  ONE. 

New  year, 

Happy  year, 
Listen  to  my  plea, 

And  ere  the  day 

Groweth  gray 
Bring  my  Love  to  me. 

Oh,  the  year  in  majesty  smileth, 
Like  stars  shining  down  on  the  sea ! 

Oh,  the  child-monarch  showeth  me  kingliesl 
grace, 
He  bringeth  my  Love  to  me ! 


MAYING. 

HERE'S  a  little  song,  my  darling, 
Written  all  for  thee, 
Just  because  a  happy  memory 
Comes  to-day  to  me  ; 

Just  because  a  soft,  sweet  picture 

Floats  before  my  eyes, 
Which  I  fain  would  paint  for  thee,  love, 

For  to-day's  surprise ; 

Just  because  a  living  poem 

Rings  within  my  ears, 
Which  I  fain  would  set  to  music 

Perfect  as  our  years. 

This,  my  picture  and  my  poem, 

As  in  missal  old, 
Writ  in  rare  and  secret  letters, 

Dashed  with  brush  of  gold, 
(183) 


1 84  MAYING. 

Here  it  glows  and  speaks  before  thee, 

Listen  now,  and  see 
If  the  glad  translation  answers 

To  the  text  for  thee  : 

Once  two  lovers  went  a-Maying, 

On  a  golden  day  ; 
All  the  future's  rosy  brightness 

Lit  the  sunny  way. 

Bird  and  tree  and  lake  and  mountain 

Offered  incense  up ; 
Fair  May-blossoms  shook  their  perfume 

From  each  trembling  cup. 

Down  the  rocks  the  silvery  water 

Murmurously  fell, 
As  if  it  held  at  heart  some  secret, 

Happy  tale  to  tell. 

And  these  lovers,  with  their  loving, 

Glorified  each  thing — 
Each  took  on  some  wondrous  color, 

Painted  on  the  wing.  ] 


MAYING.  185 

Oh,  such  vows,  such  looks,  such  kisses ! 

Every  bird  that  flew, 
Straightway  to  his  mate  repeated 

Every  word  he  knew. 

All  the  flowers  smiled  and  nodded — 

They  knew  what  it  meant ; 
With  their  lover's  ardent  glances 

Warmly  on  them  bent. 

E'en  the  monarchs  of  the  forest 

Stirred  from  winter's  dream, 
When  a  little  golden  circlet 

Somehow  flashed  between, 

Slipping  to  its  place,  was  sealed  there 

By  a  lover's  kiss  ! 
E'en  the  very  lake  broke,  dimpling, 

Into  mirth  at  this. 

Came  the  lovers  home  from  Maying— 

That  was  years  ago  ; 
Tell  me,  sweetest  lover  living, 

Went'st  thou  Maying  sot 


86  MAYING. 

Oh,  that  time  of  dear  remembrance ! 

Oh,  rare-tinted  day ! 
Sweetheart,  come,  we'll  go  a-Maying, 

Like  that  other  May  ! 


REVERY. 

COOL  and  fragrant  and  soft  the  air 
That  blows  from  the  border-land 
Where  memory  dwells   'twixt  the  world  of 
dreams, 
And  the  world  wherein  I  stand. 

A  wind-harp,  trembling  through  all  its  strings, 

Sways  in  that  mystic  air ; 
Sweet  "songs  without  words,"   in  lingering 
strains, 

Steal  over  those  fields  so  fair. 

Sparkling  or  tender,  joyous  or  grave, 

They  carry  but  one  dear  name ; 
The    undertone,   thrilling    through    all    their 
chords, 
Forever  and  ever  the  same. 

(187) 


1 88  RE  VERY. 

For  far  away  in  that  dim  sweet  land, 

With  memory  lying  between, 
In  the  world  of  dreams  I  knew  him  first, 

My  Prince  of  the  royal  mien. 

Though  memory  saith  a  time  was  once 

Where  he  did  not.  belong/ 
That  world  of  dream,  past  memory's  ken, 

Hath  held  him  in  story  and  song.    •      \ 

And  to-night  the  path  is  radiant  and  clear, 

Far  over  the  border-land, 
From    the    farthest  verge    of  the  world    of 
dreams, 

To  the  world  wherein  I  stand. 

All  its  brightness  is  bright  with  him, 

All  its  songs  are  of  love, 
And  fancy  bridges  that  inch  of  time 

Wherein  he  did  not  move. 

The  air  that  blows  from  that  border-land— 
Tis  but  breath  of  thine,  my  sweet, 

And  the  harp  is  this  answering  heart  of  mine, 
Trembling  with  love's  repeat 


4 


